


Hermione: aHistory

by Nope



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-09-19
Updated: 2009-09-19
Packaged: 2019-04-29 03:23:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14463930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nope/pseuds/Nope
Summary: After Ron's sudden death, Hermione is left to pick up the pieces.





	Hermione: aHistory

Colour Muggle photograph, 6" x 4"; King's Cross, Platform 9 3/4, c. Sept 1st 1992; a wide shot, roughly centred around Dennis Creevey (age 9) and Robert Creevey (age 38, Muggle) standing next to a trolley on which an over-packed school trunk is precariously balanced; various other student and families appear in shot, including Hermione Weasley (age 12, née Granger) boarding the Hogwarts Express, looking back toward us, frowning at a laughing Daphne Higgs (age 12, née Greengrass); the rest of the Greengrass family can just be made out reflected in the train window; photograph taken by Colin Creevey (decd.), donated July 1997 to Hogwarts Photo Archives, retrieved January 2022.  
  
*  
  
**Extract, Hugo Weasley's Dream Journal, Dec 19th, 2021**  
  
there were lights and a piano, something like a piano, but just the keys  & I heard someone scream so I went into the room & there was green light windows high up above me and lots of space, but dark w/ shapes in & something like the giant squid maybe, but made of stuff, not alive & there was someone crying under the robes & the door opened and it was dad and I tried to run but then I knew I wasn't there, so I just watched & dad was shouting but I couldn't hear him because there was a noise like a big bell & it filled everything & there were women, I think & then something was chirping and it smelled like floors & dad hugged me and told me to take care of mum & then I woke up because Rose was crying again  
  
*  
  
**Daily Prophet, Dec 12th, 2021**  
  
**AUROR OFFICE LINKED TO MUGGLE EXPLOSION**  
_by R. Skeeter_  
  
While the Ministry remain unusually tight-lipped on the subject, the Prophet can exclusively reveal that the recent explosion in a Muggle 'warehouse district' on the banks of the river Thames may not have been, as has been previously reported, of entirely Muggle origin.  There has been no official word from the Head Auror, Harry Potter (age 54), who has lead a generally uneventful career in the many years since his last-minute defeat of You-Know-Who.  However, a high-placed Ministry official today confirmed to me that a full complement of Obilivators and at least two Unspeakables were despatched to the site less than an hour after the initial conflagration.  
  
Since the advent of modern magical forensic techniques, first pioneered by Blaise Zabini (age 40), an Unspeakable is automatically despatched to any crime scene where a homicide is expected to analyse the crime scene.  Obliviators are, of course, sent to any incident that might be seen to breach the International Secrecy Statutes that remain in force despite a groundswell of opposition, primarily from Muggleborn witches and wizards and those that live in mixed villages, like Ottery St. Catchpole, Godric's Hollow, or Tinsworth.  
  
The cataclysmic explosion -- which might more properly be referred to as an  _im_ plosion -- did little to no damage to the surrounding area, yet completely levelled the building.  This is in contrast to the usually unsophisticated nature of Muggle pyrotechnical devices.  Muggle sources have alleged that the temperature and pressure inside the warehouse was enough to vaporise metal, and it seems clear that anyone who might have been inside and survived this initial blast would have been inevitably crushed by the fall of the roof immediately following.  The Department of Mysteries refused to confirm that a half-melted galleon had been found amidst the rubble.  
  
The Muggle authorities were not notified until at least an hour later, leading to the question of exactly how, and to whom, the explosion was reported.  It should also be noted that, since the August 2004 uprising, under a suggestion by Auror Potter and by controversial legal activist Hermione Weasley (age 94), all active Aurors are subject to monitoring by the Trace to "facilitate department transparency, promote efficient patrolling, and effectivise support despatch in crisis situations" meaning their positions are known at all times.  
  
It is, of course, not the Prophet's position to speculate.  
  
*  
  
TO DO IN THE EVENT OF A DEATH  
  


  * _Get documents together_  
\- Birth certificate  
\- Marriage certificate  
\- Hospital number (request from St. Mungo's)  
\- Last Will and Testament (request from Jorkins, Madley and Oxbridge)  
\- Gringotts statements  
\- Insurance statements  
\- Pension statements (request from Records and Information)  
\- Passport (to return)  
\- Driver's license (to return)  
\- Death certificate  
  

  * _People to inform_  
\- Family (Harry, my parents, your parents, your brothers, Luna, Neville)  
\- The Ministry (ask Kingsley)  
\- Hogwarts  
\- Solicitor  
\- Gringotts  
\- The DVLA  
  

  * _Register the death with the Ministry_  
  

  * _Funeral Arrangements_  
\- Contact Cemeteries and Crematorium department  
\- Time and place  
\- Type of service  
\- Type of casket  
\- Donations / flowers  
\- Invitations  
\- Notice in Prophet, Quibbler  
  

  * _Grieve_



  
Last revised: Rose's birthday, 2017  
  
*  
  
Tuft and McLaggen,  
Funeral Directors  
  
Invoice Receipt for I20211219-WEASLEY,R  
  
Car hire.............10/0  
Service..............30/0  
Dedication...........17/5  
Flowers..............13/5  
Casket............... n/a  
  
Total................60/0  
  
Paid in full, 20/12/2021  
  
Donations have been forwarded to the Ministry of Law Enforcement's Auror Partners and Children Fund as requested.  They will send you details separately.  
  
Note: We await the full wording for the memorial plate.  A further charge may be necessary, depending on the length or difficulty of the inscription.  
  
*  
  
Colour Wizarding photograph, 8" x 10"; steps of Our Lady of Good Hope, Godric's Hollow, c. August 12th, 2004; Hermione Granger-Weasley (age 24) wears a Muggle style white dress, cut away at one shoulder, and slashed open down one leg; Ron Weasley (age 24) wears simple black dress robes, a little scuffed, a sooty smudge on one cheek; they grin and wave to the camera, and then turn and kiss; photograph taken by A. Weasley; boxed with rest of personal items from the desk of Auror Weasley and returned to Ms. Weasley, December 14th, 2021.  
  
*  
  
**Extract, Luna Scamander's Journal, Dec 19th, 2021**  
  
There are lots of Weasleys.  Sometimes I think about writing a song so I can remember them all, but it's so hard to find things that rhyme nicely with Percy.  I suspect this is part of his problem.  The service is immediate friends and family only, so it is quite packed.  I think it quite cosy, and the press of bodies makes up for the chill in the air.  It is quite crisp.  I think I should prefer to die in the summer, so that people may wear flowers to my funeral and feel the sun on them.  Still, the cold keeps away the Finklerins.  Darling Rolf insists they would not come this far north anyway, but I am sure there is no proof of this, and without proof, there is always possibility.  
  
When I tell Harry this, he smiles in a sad sort of way and says that maybe I shouldn't say that to Hermione.  I think it's because he doesn't believe it.  Hermione wouldn't either, I think.  She is always very sure.  I admire that, though sometimes it is a little tiring to have things expected of you instead of asked.  She looks very still.  I remember when you died, mother.  Everything is slow, and deep, and heavy.  It is like how living underwater would be.  Perhaps I shall ask the merpeople when I take Franklin back to Hogwarts.  He is holding Neville and Hannah's hands.  
  
It is simpler to count the people who aren't Weasleys.  Teddy's hair is sober brown, leant against Victoire's strawberry blonde.  Scorpius's is more platinum.  He stands at Rose's side, holding her hand and bristling at anyone who lingers too long, like a big guard puppy.  Family has always been the most important thing to Malfoys.  Harry and Albus look less alike with each passing year.  Harry fills out his dress robes, though he is wearing black, not Auror blues, family, not business.  Albus is whippet thin in his, eyes sharp, very focused.  People say he takes after Percy in temperament, but I see a lot of Ginny in him.  I think she might have made a good Slytherin too, although I do not tell her this.  Some things she is very sensitive about.  
  
Perhaps Harry is a Weasley too.  I would let him be a Lovegood if he asked, as I am not using the name at the moment.  Family is the most important thing to Harry too, I think.  Ronald always says they were brothers in law, which is a bit of a play on words, because they are both Aurors.  Ronald is very funny, mother.  I think you will like him.  I don't really know for sure, of course, because sometimes it is odd who people like and do not.  Everybody seems to like Scorpius, but hardly anyone seems to like his father.  Perhaps that is why Draco didn't come.  He seems quite friendly with Harry, in a very reserved, awkward sort of way.  Children change a person so.  You know this, of course.  
  
Hugo kicks his feet and complains that he's bored.  Rose hushes him fiercely, and Fred and Scorpius.  Albus looks over, then looks up at me and smiles, just a little.  I think I will get him rosemary to hang around his bed at Hogwarts.  And sprackwurt, because it looks pretty in wand-light.  Harry hugs Hermione when she tries to smile.  Her strength is brittle, I think.  It does not bend well.  I don't mind when I cry.  I stop eventually.  Doesn't everything?  
  
It's restful here.  I shall come and sit on that bench and look at the flowers, and talk to Fred, and to Ronald.  It's nice, I think, that he'll have his brother with him, and a little sad.  There is space.  Perhaps it is reserved.  There are lots of Weasleys, and almost Weasleys, and Weasley friends.  I don't think we would all fit here, even if none of us have caskets, but it would be cosy.  I think death must be quite cold.  There is moss between the stones and creepers on the arches, little urns and little plaques.  The weeping angel is watching us from between her fingers.  I do not think she is weeping at all.  I want to ask Ginny what she thinks, but the little, tufted man speaks, so I don't.  
  
The service is brief but lovely.  There's a bit of a sing-song and Rose cries on Scorpius.  He says something in her ear and she smiles at him, still crying.  Hermione doesn't cry on the outside.  She gets dirty looks for that, which is a shame.  People look so ugly when they do that.  It's not that hard to see inside things, if you look at them squiggly.  You just have to put all the parts together, and then you see.  Albus's hands are fists in his pockets.  Rosemary and sprackwurt, I think.  And maybe something night-blooming.  Hermione likes jasmine.  Hugo doesn't like his tie, and pulls it half-off mid service, but no-one notices until Molly screams at him.  
  
He looks so confused, I let him come back to Godric's Hollow on my bike, sending Franklin off with Neville.  Boys need their fathers.  They need their mothers too.  Really, people need people.  People are what make people people.  Is that why you like the paper, mother?  Hugo holds tight all the way back, and laughs against my shoulder, and kisses my cheek at the doorway.  The clouds are darker and we know it will snow soon.  
  
I make hot chocolate in the kitchen and close Hermione's hands around the mug.  She holds it tight and I watch the foam tremble back and forth.  I hold her hands holding the cup until she looks at me.  I don't think eyes are windows on the soul, but they can see the intellect just fine, and perhaps that is close enough.  I make everybody leave her alone in the kitchen by talking about Droobers and Glodwhackers and Verminous Pitrumpkins.  
  
The children group by age and house, even here.  I suppose some stratification is inevitable.  I choose to believe otherwise.  Fred likes a good prank as much as anything, and the yelling makes things better, especially with the laughing.  Yelling and laughing go together well, like buttercup and primrose.  While they are preoccupied, I take Hugo's hand and we go outside.  I can see Hermione through the window, her head bowed.  I know she has not drunk from the cup, but she holds it still, as the flakes come down, melting in our hair and flecking our robes.  I will miss Ronald greatly until I see him again, I think.  
  
Hugo and I twirl in the snow, trying to catch flakes on our tongue.  
  
*  
  


From the office of:  
**Wizengamot Administration Services** ,  
Ministry of Magic,  
London,  
SE5  
  
Dec 14th, 2021  
  
Our Ref: JK-1-RW-R15-S0-DCD

  
Dear Ms. Granger-Weasley,

Please find enclosed the details of all applicable insurance and pension statements, and the relevant related forms thereof.

As the other records you have requested pertain to an ongoing investigation, we cannot presently release them without a formal request from the Auror office, or upon presentation of a warrant by a notified official of either the Ministry of Law Enforcement: Legal Office or the Wizengamot.

Yours sincerely,

Augustus Pipinose  
Information Retrievel Officer

cc: Calvin Dawson,  
Harry Potter

*

Auror Department,  
Ministry of Magic,  
London,  
SE5  
  
Dec 17th, 2021  
  
Our Ref: HW-RW-152-B

  
Dear Mrs. Weasley,

Further to our conversation by floo yesterday, and in person this morning, I am very sorry to say that I cannot comply with your request for copies of the reports relating to your late husband's death.  As I'm sure you know, since you helped draft it, the Auror Code of Ethics prevents the release of files to any individual with a personal interest in the case, to prevent conflicts of interest tainting either the evidence or the investigation.  I'm bound to only discuss broad details of the case with you.

I'd like to take this opportunity to say that I worked for your husband for a number of years, and he was an outstanding Auror.  I admired him greatly, and I am very sorry for his loss.  If there is anything else I can do, please do not hesitate to ask.  I wish I could be of more help to you.

Yours respectfully,

Calvin Dawson,  
Auror

cc: Harry Potter,  
Kingsley Shacklebot

*

Godric's Hollow,  
20/12

  
Hermione,

I promise you, I've gone over all the evidence with our best forensic experts.  I even got Creevey out of the Unspeakables to try him at it because I remembered you said he knew his stuff, even if he is a bit odd.  I still get chills every time he says 'Hello, Harry!'  If there was anything, anything at all, you have to know I would show it to you, Code or no Code, I swear I would, but there just isn't.  There really isn't.  It's not worth losing your job over, pushing.  You know what the politics is like.  They're already trying to enforce extending your Christmas holidays as 'compassionate leave', but I know you'd much rather work.

Anyway, you should come for Christmas, all of you.  Ginny and I would love it if you and the kids came and stayed here for a bit.  It'll be a bit of a squeeze, but we've done worse.  Rose can bunk in with Lily, and Hugo with Albus.  James can kip at Teddy and Victoire's.  Anyway, we'd love to have you.  If you want to.

Love,  
Harry

*

**Extract, Hugo Weasley's Dream Journal, Dec 21st, 2021**

in my parent's room & the wardrobe is open & I take out my dad's box, where he keeps all his papers and stuff & I can't open it, but then it opens itself but it doesn't have papers, it is full of flowers, all different colours, purple & yellow & orange & white & I keep shaking it out and there is a mirror in the bottom & I look in it, but it's not me, it's dad, but he doesn't see me & I go downstairs to show it to mum, but I am already there, hugging her, and she is crying, and Rose is watching us from the doorway & when they all look at me, I can see they don't recognise me & I try to shout but it wakes me up

*

TO DO

Thank you cards for donations.  
Meet with Harry to sort out bequests.  
Go through Ron's things.

Wrap Christmas presents for the kids.

Return Ron

*

**Written on the back of a postcard depicting Koalas, Kangaroos, and Sydney Opera House and harbour, not dated:**

To: Ron Weasley,  
c/o Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes  
Diagon Alley,  
London,  
UK

  
Ron,

Australia is lovely, even in winter, but I can't enjoy it until I find my parents.  I have a list of lodging places and I'm trying all the ones I think my father would have picked.  Hopefully someone will remember them.  I'm also trying to find if they are registered to practice anywhere, but I don't know that British dentistry qualifications would be enough over here.  Hopefully I can find a library to research without having to go all the way back to Sydney.

I found a large puzzle chest I couldn't help buying for you.  It requires chess problems to unlock; useful to keep some of George's more outlandish experiments in, away from prying fingers, perhaps?  I have sent it on separately, although I'm sure you'll get it before this card.  The international owl service is terrible, no doubt due to how badly they treat the poor creatures.

I miss you terribly.  Please write soon.

Love,  
Hermione

*

**Written on the back of an unused Skiving Snackbox Order Form, not dated:**

Off to Australia.  Don't tell mum.  Send Crookshanks to Harry.

All the orders have been boxed up and labelled for delivery, and I turned the cauldrons down and covered the puffskein cages.  I'll drop my keys off with Gwendy.  I'm not bringing you back a drop bear, so don't even ask.

\--R.

*

**Daily Prophet, May 1st, 2004**

**House No More?  Elf Charter Ratified**  
_by Z. Smith_

Despite ongoing protest from traditionalist opposition and accusations that the new law is effectively toothless from hard line modernists, the Free Elf Charter was today ratified by the Wizengamot with a full legal majority.  Architect of the Charter and chief proponent of House Elf Rights, Hermione Granger (age 37), admitted the Charter was a "construction of compromise" but said "the ultimate principle of fair and equitable treatment in the workplace, regardless of species, has been upheld."

The Free Elf Charter codifies into law various rights for House Elves not bound to families, including workplace conditions and minimal wages, and grants bound Elves the right to self-determination in the manner of continued unemployment.  Suggestions by opponents that this will lead to House Elves deserting families in droves has been dismissed by experts who, like Professor Kettleridge (age 64), insist "the psychology of House Elves is such that they need to serve on a fundamental level; those who do otherwise are rare aberrations."  While some see this as a reason to oppose the new laws, saying these House Elves require treatment, not wages, Kettleridge says "the aberration is systemic and can not be eradicated from the mutated individual; it is only humane, therefore, to accommodate their suffering as best we can."

Though often controversial, Ms. Granger persists as a rising star in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, first coming to prominence with her reforms of the International Owl Mailing Service and her radical transformation of the Centaur Liaison Office.  Despite being much maligned for her work with Werewolves, and often impugned to be riding on Harry Potter's coat-tails, Ms Granger has nevertheless proven to be a major player in her own right.  Save for preventing the Office of Misinformation being reclassified as a sub-division of the Department of Mysteries, Ms Granger has consistently defeated older and more experienced department heads through a combination of perseverance, ingenuity, and a refreshing honest streak.

"We're all just waiting to see what she does next," said Auror Potter (age 25) when questioned.  "Nothing stops Hermione for long."

Her upcoming nuptials might slow her down, if only for the honeymoon, although Auror Ronald Weasley (age 25) joked, "I'm going to hide her briefcase for the entire trip."

*

A child's drawing, done in wax crayon on scraped parchment; four round faces in decreasing size over stick figure bodies, visible through outlines of clothes; orange lines shoot up from the first figure's head; brown zig-zags practically obliterate the second figure's head; red arcs top the two smallest figures; a wide band of blue passes over their legs and through the bottom of a little square house under a bright yellow sun; written in an adult hand on the reverse is 'My Family, by Rosie, age 3'.

*

Colour Wizarding photograph, 6" x 4"; the rear garden of the River House, Kingston-upon-Thames, c. July 31st, 2015; tethered birthday balloon wafting back and forth, backdropped by the Thames, frame Hermione Weasley (age 35); she is knelt down, grinning at the camera, one hand reaching up to pull flowers from her hair, the other arm around the shoulders of Hugo Weasley (age 7) who has his head thrown back in silent laughter; Rose Weasley (age 9), similarly covered in flowers, looks exasperatedly on from the edge of frame; as each flower is removed, more pop up, and Hugo laughs again;  photograph taken by R. Weasley; written on the reverse is "Hugo - First Magic - age 7".

*

**Daily Prophet, Sep 19th, 2019**

**Squibs Added To Workplace Discrimination Bill**  
_by R. Smith_

Under the auspices of Solicitor Weasley (age 49) and the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, the Wizengamot has today announced that the Workplace Discrimination Bill of 2017 has now been officially extended to include Squibs.

"If a job can be done with relative ease without magic, employers may no longer refuse to accept low- or non- magical candidates simply because the job can also be done with magic," Ms Weasley explained to a gathering of the press today.  "We're not trying to force St. Mungo's to start taking on non-wizard surgeons; we're trying to keep prejudice from stopping Squibs obtaining gainful employment in areas where magic is a bonus, not a necessity."

Last month, Ms Weasley personally championed Auria Jones (age 22), a Squib who was turned down for a number of accounting and secretarial positions with the Higgs Group of businesses (including Twiling and Taffits, Borgin's Books and Apton's Apothecary) despite them being "pretty much just counting and writing", Ms Jones alleged.  Though the case was dismissed when Ms Jones was paid an undisclosed sum in compensation by the Higgs Group, Ms Weasley said, "It gave us the momentum we needed to eradicate yet another legal encoding of bigotry and oppression."

Originally introduced to protect the rights of Muggleborns, the Workplace Reform Act of 2006 was followed by the House Elves Act in 2009, and the Werewolves (and similarly afflicted wizards and Witches) Act in 2013.  In 2015, coverage was extended to spell-damaged individuals and other minority groups.  Following complaints about the complexity (and possibly contradictory nature) of the laws, all the separate acts were combined into the Workplace Discrimination Bill in 2017, all under the guiding hand of Ms Weasley.

This has not gone unnoticed or without complaint, many people saying that Ms Weasley is using her influence to circumvent Wizengamot protocol and become a one-woman lawmaker.  High ranked members of the Wizengamot continue to deny there has been any wrong doing.

*

THE CRESCENT  
23-25 Bun Dent Alley, London

06/12/2021

1 Gillywater..............01/03/02  
1 Firewhiskey.............01/05/02  
1 Large Basket of Chips...00/16/28

Opening week discount....-00/05/26

TOTAL.....................03/07/06

Service included.

*

Interoffice Memo  
10/12

  
Harry,

Can't meet for drinks.  Apparently I went to some new place that I'd promised to take Hermione to without her.  I tried pointing out I was on a case and couldn't have taken her anyway, but you can guess how well that went down, so I got in quick before she could start on about marriage being all about communicating again.  I don't even remember going, so it can't be all that great, but it'll make her happy.  Anyway, I'm nipping out early to get flowers and chocolates, get my romance on.  You should take Gin out too, mate.  But not the Crescent, yeah?  Hermione'd have our bollocks.

Take the weekend off.  I'll see you Monday.  
Ron.

PS: Natalie McDonald messaged me about some Gringotts files.  Any ideas which case that was?  I'll pick them up on the way out.

*

35 1/2 Dover Street,  
Mayfair,  
London,  
W1S 4QN  
  
December the Third, 2021

  
Mister Weasley, 

Your order, personalised to your specifications, is now ready for collection upon receipt of the final payment of 16 galleons and 12 sickles.  Please bring appropriate monies or a transfer order to our offices at your earliest convenience.

Yours sincerely,  
Aldover Wright

for: WRIGHT, GRIPHOOK, & TEAGUE  
Registered Jewellers and Master Craftsmen of the First Order

*

Interoffice Memo,  
3/12

  
Harry,

Ron is being secretive again, and you know he's not any good at it.  Has he talked to you?  I do hope he isn't planning something ridiculously extravagant for Christmas.  I keep telling him that I'd be happy with a couple of good books, but you know what he's like when it comes to money.  Honestly, Harry, I don't know why I put up with him sometimes!

(I know you're reading this, Ron!)

I'm almost done with Mycroft.  Come over for dinner.  Arthur caught the most ridiculously large trout you've ever seen, and we'll never eat it by ourselves.  Plus I think I've finally perfected that cheesecake recipe Molly keeps talking about.

Love,  
Hermione

*

**OPENING THIS WEEKEND!**  
  
THE CRESCENT  
  
_Wizarding London's latest and best bar restaurant_  
  
Reproducing the exclusive, award winning menus from our locations in   
Paris, Rome, Johannesburg, Sydney, and Salem  
and adding the Crescent touch to all your favourite British dishes  
  
_Wide range!  Live music!  Friendly staff!_  
  
**THE CRESCENT**  
**23-25 Bun Dent Alley**  
  
Just off Diagon Alley, next to Stone Joe's Bakery  
  
**OPENING OFFER!  
10% OFF WITH THIS FLYER!**

Selected food and drinks items not included in discount offer.  Please ask at the bar for more details.  
Alcoholic beverages will be served only to persons carrying proof of age.  
In accordance with Better Business regulations, the Crescent employs Free Elves only.

*

**Notes made by autoquill at The Crescent, Dec 24th, 2021; seized from Rita Skeeter by warrant order, Feb 19th, 2022**

_(Hermione Weasley - strung out? - terrible hair, shoes.  Talking to barman (interview).  Moving to intercept.  Begin full record.  Sub-voc mode.  Oh, what have we here?  Parkinson -- green doesn't suit her skin.  Surprisingly tasteful necklace, simple but pretty.  A lover's gift?  Check gossip re: affair with Higgs.)_

P: Damn.

_(Smiles -- annoyed?)_

P: What did I miss?

_(Resigned, perhaps.  H confused, trying not to show it, terrible actress.)_

H: Miss?

P: You don't--   _(also confused?  can't get better angle without being seen.  research possibility of multiple animagus forms)_

H: I don't... what?

_(Pansy smiles again. Odd thing.  Recognition?  Callously?  Cunning -- hardly has the face for it.  Basic animal grasp.  Reminder: update quill thesaurus.)_

P: You don't seem the type to drown your sorrows.  Isn't there a shoe box somewhere, waiting for you to shout from?

H: Soapbox.  It's a soap-- Never mind.

P: Oh, but I do!  We all have to know these things these days, don't we?  Muggle culture triumphs again.  Barkeep!  A soapbox for the witch!  I am still allowed to call you a witch, aren't I?

H: It's a step up from the words you usually use.

_(use waspishly there)_

P: I'm a victim of my upbringing.  It's terrible I know.  Still, I'm sure you'll eradicate something else.  Your lot call it 'cultural imperialism', don't they?

H: My lot.

P: Would you care to join me in a toast?   _(waves to bartender, definitely eavesdropping; clearly shifty)_   A couple of Gillywaters here.

H: A toast to what, exactly?

P: Why, to the greater good, of course!  To a Muggleborn in every house and a Muggle on every corner and a galleon in the pocket of everyone smart enough to know nothing about where they came from or where they're going.

H: Don't you get bored?

P: You get pretty far on being righteous all the time.  I can see why.  It is rather fun.

H: Why do you -- no.  I don't even know why I'm talking to you.  Goodbye, Pansy.

P: Aw!  So soon?  But I thought we could have a nice chat.

_(H turns away.)_

P: Catch up on old times and new?

_(H keeps walking)_

P: I was sorry to hear about your Weasley!

_(H stops.  Come on, come on.  Yes!  There's the turn back.  Colour in her cheeks now.  Ooh, look at those hands.  You want to clench them, don't you?  Knew I should have brought the camera boy, damn.)_

H: You don't-- You don't talk about him, you understand.  Not one word.

P: It was such a shame.  He seemed so healthy the last time we met.

_(Hello!  This is the stuff.)_

H: I'm warning you, Pansy--

P: Maybe a little down, but I cheered him up.

H: By letting him laugh at you?

P:  _(chuckles)_  That was almost clever.

H: And when was this supposed to have occurred?

P: Oh, who can remember dates?  It was only a few times.

H: I see.

P: It's a small world, after all.  There really aren't that many of us left, not really.  So if we meet here and there, well, there could hardly be anything sinister in it, could there?

H: You're a cold, cruel small-hearted little girl, and if you think for a second that I'm taken in by your pathetic insinuations, you're even stupider than I ever gave you credit for.

_(H takes P's drink, knocks it back and slams it on the bar.  Possible history of alcoholism?)_

H: A pleasure as always, Ms. Parkinson.

_(She storms away.)_

P: Merry Christmas, Ms Granger.

_(ooh, bitchy.  are we getting a come back?  no, H's clear out the door.  too bad.  still, her loss, my gain)_

R: Ohh, Pansy!  How lovely to see you again, my dear, it has been  _far_  too long.  I couldn't help overhearing...

*

The River House,  
Kingston-Upon-Thames  
24/12

  
Dear Viktor,

It's horrible here.  It's not just dad.  I mean, it is, but Hugo's being a total brat.  Mum won't stop organising things.  She keeps making lists of everything.  I think she even made of list of lists.  She put the fridge in alphabetical order and wrote up a meal schedule, with snacks and everything, and then Hugo just went and helped himself to the last of the apples.  I thought she was going to scream at him, but she just went outside and started tidying up the garden.  It's December!  And I tried to ask her something, I don't even remember what about, I was just trying to make conversation, and it took me almost all day to stop her getting out old textbooks and her school rolls and writing up revision plans for me.  I tried to get her to take us to Uncle Harry's, like he said, but she just kept shaking her head.  She keeps taking the papers out of dad's puzzle box and sorting them into piles, staring at them, and then putting them back in the box.  I don't know what to do.

Please come.  
Rose

*

Rose's New Year's Resolutions List

This year, I resolve to:

  1. Do my best, for myself.  Despite the House Cup, the only person I am competing with in school work is myself.  As long as I am doing the best I can, I do not have to be the best there is.  

  2. Make time for my friends.  There are six months until the OWLs.  That is time enough both to study and to take breaks.  Proper breaks keep you healthier and more alert and help you retain more than studying all hours will.  

  3. ~~Try and stop randomly bursting into tears.~~
  



  
  
*  
  
New Year's Resolutions by Hugo V. Weasley Esquire  
  
\- Not do all my homework at the last minute ~~just most of it~~.  
\- Write my dream journal every day ~~even though mum said it wasn't a real subject in the first place~~.  
\- Not back-chat ~~even when I'm right and everybody else is wrong, which I am, and they are~~.  
\- Take care of mum and Rose ~~like dad says~~.  
  
*  
  
~~New Year's Resolutions~~  
  
~~I will~~  
  
~~Organise Ron~~  
  
~~Get rid of old stuff.  Sort out~~  
  
~~Organise loft and school stuff, OWL notes and NE~~  
  
~~I don't know. I don't I don't I don't oh Ron, you stupid, stupid man~~  
  
~~Cry.~~  
  
*  
  
**Extract, Viktor Krum's Journals, December 25th, 2022**  
  
I did not mean to be there, yet there I was again.  My Gabrielle was intoxicating and intoxicated, her skin rosy and glowing, her breasts a thick, soft weight in my hands as she straddled me and we came together and apart in slow sliding rhythm.  She spoke Russian like a Bulgarian, strings of obscene syllables tumbling together, spilling over us.  It had just turned Christmas in Genève.  The lights were off and outside the window I could see snow tumbling down to the lake.  Gabrielle laughed when I said it was like her hair.  
  
"Soul of a poet," she said.  
  
I drove the words from her with my hips, but not the laughter, and we giggled and gasped together and brought each other roaring to completion.  (I write this not to aid future recollection, for my memory holds her dear, but for her amusement; I know she will read this and pretend otherwise.)  She has a dancer's body, solid and smooth, controlled grace.  I could feel her strength when, afterwards, she sprawled out on me.  
  
"It's Christmas," I said.  
  
She shrugged a little against me.  "Fleur knows to expect me when I arrive."  
  
We were quiet for a while, I do not know how long, nor am I sure of what I was thinking.  Perhaps I was not.  There are times when it is easy to simply flow.  Most often I experience this on a broom, releasing everything to the air and letting instinct guide me.  The world goes in and the the world goes out.  Most people do not get this, I have learned.  Gabrielle told me once that she could lose everything in dance but the necessity of motion, the inevitability of rhythm.  A long, long time ago, Hermione smiled and ducked her head a little and talked about getting lost in books.  
  
"You're going then," Gabrielle said.  
  
It was not a question.  I think she had expected me to leave the moment Rose's letter arrived, the indignant owl hopping to and fro on the balcony, shaking out its wet wings.  I could not think of anything to say to this, either, but perhaps my face answered for me, because she huffed laughter and touched the tip of her finger to my nose.  
  
"Did you know your nose is curved?" she asked.  
  
I did, though I thought it little relevance to the discussion at hand and said so, and her reply seemed to have even less.  
  
"People grieve in their own ways, Viktor."  
  
After Karkaroff turned up dead, I flew slow laps around the pitch waiting to feel something.  He had been a Death Eater, but he had also been my professor and my coach.  If he had not made me who I was, he had at least had his own hand in shaping it.  I felt I owed him a moment of something, of memory and sorrow.  In the end I just went around and around and got nowhere.  Quidditch lends itself to metaphor.  
  
"In a couple of days," I said.  "Christmas is personal.  It is family.  I would be intruding, not helping."  
  
It was true, but it tasted like a lie on my tongue.  Hermione would have called me on it, I think.  She has that about her, that force that knew how the world should be, that expectation that everything would fall in line if she was just resolute enough.  I wondered what Durmstrang would have made of her, and than quashed the thought.  It did not do to dwell on things you could not change.  Oh, Hermione.  Why do we always have to learn these things the hard way?  
  
"Viktor," Gabrielle sighed.  "Still?  It's been twenty years."  
  
I rolled her over in the bed clothes and kissed the question from her lips so I did not have to explain that the answer was as much 'No' as it was 'Always'.  
  
*  
  
**Extract, Rose Weasley's Diary, January 3rd, 2022**  
  
Mum said it was like taking a potion.  The longer you took, the worst the taste became.  It was best just to get it over and done with.  Hugo started talking about medicines that worked in small, timed doses.  I told him to be quiet, but I might as well not have bothered, because mum just ignored him and he took it as a reason to wander around, getting underfoot and not helping even the slightest bit.  
  
It wasn't about forgetting, or moving on, mum said.  He'll always be our dad, and we'll keep the memory alive.  It's just like tidying up after a party.  Maybe that wasn't what mum said exactly.  It sounded better when she said it.  It seems really silly when I write it down like this.  
  
We went through dad's clothes, sorting out the worn stuff from the newer and putting them into boxes, one for donations, and one for rags.  Mum let me keep dad's dressing gown.  It's thick and warm and too long.  Dad lets me wear it all the time.  
  
I have to write 'let'.  Everything is past tense now.  Luna says people stay with us, even when they're not ghosts, but I don't think I believe her, not really.  It's not the same.  I'm dreading going back to school.  I'm worried it won't seem real any more, that it'll be like I can just owl them both whenever, like all the previous years.  I can't do this again.  So I have to do it now.  
  
Dad let me wear his gown all the time.  I will keep it now.  
  
Mum said Hugo could take something too.  He just looked at her weirdly, and then bounced on the bed until she sent him outside.  We kept dad's watch, and his Order of Merlin medal thing, even though neither of them ever wear them, not really, and put the rings aside to go to Charlie and Teddy, like dad asked.  His wedding ring was lost with  
  


_Later,_

  
I hate crying.  I hate it.  I get all blotchy and I can't breathe and my stomach hurts.  People keep telling me its okay, which is just about as wrong as you can get.  Well, most people.  Albus just waited for me to stop and then carried on as if the middle bit hadn't happened.  He's kind of creepy sometimes.  Scorpius hugged him goodbye when he left and Albus's face!  It was the first laugh I'd had in ages.  He hugged me too, and told me to write, and when I got back I found he'd left all his Wen Chang novels in my room, even the new one he hadn't finished yet.  I'm keeping his bookmark.

This wasn't what I was going to write about.

We were sorting dad's stuff out.  It was slow going.  Mum kept just holding things and staring at them.  I never realised before how much junk dad had.  There was even a chunk of rock that I think might have come from a statue of a horse or something.  I tried to ask mum about it, but she just -- I don't know.  It wasn't a laugh.  It was just a noise. And she said, "That was a very long time ago" but not what.

Anyway, she sent me to put the new box in the hall with the stuff we'd already sorted, but when I went out they weren't there.  I figured Hugo had moved them outside, which would have been actually helpful, so I left my box in the hall and went to check.  I would've taken it with me if I'd had any idea where outside he would have put stuff, but I didn't want to lug it around, which turned out to be good, because the boxes weren't outside at all.  When I came back, it was to see Hugo dragging the box I'd just left into his room.

"What are you doing?" I asked, and he ignored me, so I asked it again.  I think I might have yelled, maybe, because mum came out too.

Hugo looked guilty, but he didn't stop taking the box, so I went after him, and mum, and we found he'd put all the boxes in his wardrobe and was trying to hide the new one in there too, which was ridiculous.  We'd just seen him with it!  Mum just sighed and sat down on his bed.  She called him over, but he wouldn't sit, just hovered in front of her, while she went through the whole explanation again.

"Please help us take them down," she said.

Hugo shook his head.  Mum tried again.  Hugo said "No," and "I don't want to," and "Rose got to keep the gown, why can't I keep all this" and so on, and mum kept on about the grief process and all that.  Like she was trying to be calm, but she just kept getting louder, and that doesn't work with Hugo.  It never has.  He just gets louder in turn, until mum was on her feet again and they were both going at.  I tried to stop them, and they started yelling at me.  And then mum yelled at Hugo for yelling at me, and Hugo actually said that mum had started it.  I've never seen mum so cross!

"Hugo Viktor Weasley," she yelled, "you take those boxes downstairs right now, young man!"

Hugo yelled right back, "Dad will want them when he comes back!"

And mum slapped him!  Right across the face!  She never hits us, not ever, not a smack, or even rapping our knuckles like Grandma Molly does when we get too close to something she doesn't want us to touch in the kitchen.  A proper slap!  It was so loud!

I think Hugo was too surprised to say or do anything.  We all were a bit, even mum.

She went so white.  And she clapped her hands to her mouth, one pressed to another, like she was trying to hold something in.  I didn't know what to do.  Hugo just stood there, eyes huge, imprint fading on his cheek.  He looked even more confused when mum suddenly dropped to her knees and hugged him, saying she was sorry over and over, and then she started crying and I thought, that's the first time since, and I was crying too and she hadn't even touched me, and Hugo was all awkward and patting her hair and damn it

_Later,_

  
Everybody was horribly awkward after.  I thought mum crying would make things better, like a thunderstorm after a muggy day, but it didn't, not really.  They stopped yelling though, so there was that.  And mum agreed Hugo could keep all the stuff.

"Just until my birthday," he said.  "Just until then, okay, mum?"

And she agreed.  I don't know why then.  He'll still be at Hogwarts.  We BOTH will.  Mum could throw it out any time.  She wouldn't break her promise to Hugo, of course, but still.  I think come his birthday, he'll say, just until Easter, and then it'll be just until summer, until it's forever.  He used to try that at bedtimes.  Just a few minutes more, Rosie.  Just a few more.

I miss being called Rosie.  It's not the same any more.  Nothing's the same, now.

*

Colour Wizarding photograph, 6" x 4"; maternity ward, St. Mungo's, c. February 22nd, 2008; a sweaty Hermione Weasley in a lime-green hospital robe is sat up in bed with an exhausted smile, propped up by pillows and Ron Weasley who is wedged into the bed with her, Rose in his arms, all three of them leaning in to look at newborn Hugo, whose face is scrunched up, about to cry; photograph taken by Harry Potter.

*

**School Calendar,  
Academic Year,   
2021-2022  
  
Michaelmas Term**  
Term: Sep 1st 2021 - Dec 17th 2021  
Half term: Oct 26th 2021 - Oct 30th 2021  
  
**Spring Term**  
Term: Jan 5th 2022 - Apr 2nd 2022  
Half term: Feb 15th 2022 - Feb 19th 2022  
  
**Summer Term**  
Term: Apr 19th 2022 - Jul 25th 2022  
Half term: May 31st 2022 - Jun 4th 2022  
  
**Note:**  the Hogwarts Express departs at 11am precisely.

  
*

Colour Muggle photograph, 4" x 6"; King's Cross, Concourse, c. Sept 1st 1991; a full-body portrait shot of Hermione Granger (age 11), grinning toothily, bushy hair curling all over her shoulders, standing next to a trolley on which an over-sized steamer trunk is neatly placed; photograph taken by John Granger; reproduced in Hogwarts: The Potter Years (D. Thomas et al, published 2040.)

*

Silver gel wizard photograph, 8" x 8"; location unknown but presumed to be MLE HQ, c. July 14th 2005; a head-and-shoulders portrait shot of Hermione Weasley (age 25), against a plain backdrop, wearing simple black dress robes, her hair tied back and up, smiling with quiet assurance; she is holding her Bar certificate, establishing her as a full honours practitioner of magical law, and entitled to all the advantages and responsibilities there-of; despite usual protocol, Weasley is notably not wearing her Order of Merlin medal; photograph taken by unknown; kept on file in the MLE employee archives.

*

**Letter to the Editor, Daily Prophet, March 17th 2004**

To save you the trouble of skipping to the end of this letter, let me start by saying that my name is Pansy Parkinson and, yes, I am  _that_  Pansy Parkinson, as people feel the endless need to inquire.  Really, there aren't enough Parkinsons left, and certainly not in British society, that such a thing must be so often confirmed.  Those days are long behind us; at least, I would assume they should be.

The Sorting Hat is, of course, an ancient and beloved tradition.  It casually collates like minded individuals into groups that manage to survive the end of formal education, so that, even five years after we have left Hogwarts hallowed halls, my compatriots can still find themselves faced with distrust at every turn -- though they too fought for the school and Harry Potter himself has spoke in praise of their former head, the dearly departed Severus Snape.  Still, and while in no means intending to downplay my friends problems, it is one thing to be a Slytherin, and another to be  _that_  Slytherin.

Yes, I stood up at the Battle of Hogwarts, and I asked for Harry Potter to be given to the Dark Lord as demanded.  I admit it.  I admit being seventeen and scared for my life and the lives of my friends and fellows.  I admit I believed sacrificing one for the sake of the hundreds of children around us, whose only crime had been to assume that a school was a place of safety and refuge, was the most prudent course.  I was that person.  I am that person.

We are constructs of our mutual history.  We are born out of endless entwining traditions that bind us together us families, as friends, as one people.  We are united by the thread of magic and the common wish to make our society a better place.  Yet, somehow, the very thing that brings us together has somehow become the thing that is driving us apart.  Activists, desperate to seize as much control and influence as they can before their brief spark of fame goes out, hack and slash at the very foundations of our culture.

Please understand, I am not against reform.  I do not believe it in the interests of any witch or wizard to allow ourselves to stagnate.  I absolutely agree that steps must be taken to prevent the tyranny of either the majority or the minorities.  Everyone who enters into our culture fully, accepting the responsibilities thereof, must also be accorded the freedoms equally available to all.  Effort for the community should be rewarded; effort against it should be punished.  This is just, and I praise all efforts being made towards this laudable goal.

Where these efforts fail is where they disregard history as an inconvenience, where they disregard traditions without appreciation for the influences and necessities that first formed them, where they attempt to assuage the ruffled sensitivities of a few malcontents with all the subtlety of a troll's club.  With wild swipes they bash away, expecting our gratitude for what they have fixed, without noticing everything they have broken in so doing.

Now, a movement has been struck up to disinvest House Elves of their history, of their purpose and natural desires.  It seeks to teach them self-hatred, to turn them against those have housed them, who have accepted them into Wizarding families and given them the means and opportunities to expand their natural talents to the best of their abilities.  It seeks to destroy their identities, identities forged over centuries through patterns of mutual benefit, and offers nothing to replace them with but a half-baked mockery of Wizarding fashions.  They will no longer be House Elves.  They will never be Wizards.  They will simply be nothing.

And we are to accept this is to everyone's benefit?

It is true that the Wizengamot and the Ministry create their own laws at their own behest, and certainly there is nothing illegal in this, but there is a greater law, a moral law, that says these offices, at heart, are the servants of the people.  You do not have to blindly suffer them but can, through proper protest, return these witches and wizards to the just path.  Tell people, and let them tell people, until this great Wizarding nation resounds with the cry: let House Elves be House Elves!  Let wizards be wizards!  We are all part of the whole, and we all have our roles to play: let us!  Tell them!

And, yes, they will say I am as wrong now as I was then.  They will tell you to remember what I did.  So be it.  Remember it.  Hold it against me.  That is your privilege.  That is the freedom you sacrificed so many to have.  Remember that a scared girl tried to save her friends, the only way she knew how.

Remember too, that, in the end, Harry Potter  _did_  give himself to the Dark Lord.  And thus was the war won.

*

**Daily Prophet, Sep 19th, 2004**

**Feuding Friends Pummel Pub**  
_by R. Skeeter_

An MLE patrol was called to the Leaky Cauldron yesterday when an altercation between customers threatened to spill out into Muggle London.  The incident involved Draco Malfoy, son of known Death Eater, Lucius Malfoy, and Pansy Parkinson, of the Oxford Parkinsons.  The exact nature of the disagreement between the two is unknown, although the Malfoys have been publically distancing themselves from former allies since the end of the Second War.  What began as a verbal confrontation between Malfoy and Ms Parkinson swiftly escalated into magical attacks, with witnesses divided on who cast the first curse.

MLE officers were on the scen within minutes, with both Parkinson and Malfoy taken into custody.  No charges were brought, although a Ministry spokesman assured the Prophet that both had been seriously cautioned.  While the Leaky Cauldron offered no official comment on the situation, customers will note that, as of this writing, all damage to the pub has been repaired and the stock replaced.

Despite much public opposition, the Malfoys escaped legal confinement for their parts in the Second War, mostly due to the testimony of Harry Potter, now Auror, and the generosity of Narcissa Malfoy, who has proved that grace, humility, and grand largesse can buy a significant measure of good will.  Perhaps Miss Parkinson could take her cue from Ms Malfoy; with their continued public resistance to reform, the Parkinsons reputation as staunch traditionalists has served them ill in recent years, including two overlooked Wizengamot positions and a number of fines for non-compliance with Ministry Orders.

Moreover, recent rumours of an impending marriage between Malfoy and Ms Parkinson have been strenuously denied by the Malfoys and their representatives, despite sightings of Malfoy examining engagement rings.

*

**Printed in the Daily Prophet's Society Section:**

It is with great pleasure that  
**Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy**  
announce the  
_wedding_  
of their son and heir  
  
**Draco Malfoy**  
  
to  
  
**Miss Astoria Greengrass**  
  
on this day of  
**11th December 2005**  
in the gardens of  
Malfoy Manor,  
Wiltshire

  
*

**Printed on ivory card stock, delivered by hand, December 10th, 2021**

**Draco and Astoria Malfoy**  
  
are holding a small gathering  
to mark the occasion of their  
  
**_fifteenth wedding anniversary._**  
  
It is their pleasure to  
extend an invitation to  
  
Harry and Ginevra Weasley  
  
to attend luncheon at  
  
_Malfoy Manor,  
Wiltshire_  
  
on the date of  
  
_Saturday, the eleventh of December_  
  
from  
  
_one o'clock in the afternoon._

  
*

**Handwritten on reverse of same:**

Formal attire is mandatory.

~DM

*

**Notable entries, Gringotts visitor log**

**  
   date    -   person     -                 
** **  
reason             - duration  
**

10/12/2021 - R. Weasley   - see N. MacDonald,                - 21mins  
                                            Auror business

12/12/2021 - P. Parkinson - Higgs Group Vault                - 6mins

16/12/2021 - H. Weasley   - see Griphook, certificate        - 2hrs  
                                             of death, statements request

24/12/2021 - P. Parkinson - Higgs Group Vault                - 19mins

*

**Extract, Viktor Krum's Journals, December 29th, 2022**

England's winters are lackluster things.  The snow falls thin and does not last long.  When I arrived at Hermione's door, the steps up from the river were covered in browning slush.  The door opened before I got there.

"You just missed Uncle Harry," Hugo said.  "I told him you'd be here soon, but he left anyway.  Mum's being weird again."

I'm not sure what I would have said to that if Rose hadn't barged past him and practically thrown herself at me.  I gathered, more from my inability to breathe than the babble that followed, that she was glad to see me.  The usual small talk followed or, at least, as usual as we could get in such a situation, while I removed my boots and worked the stiffness out of my knee, and then Rose practically dragged me into the kitchen.

Hermione was doing something with pans of vegetables, moving things with quiet efficiency, eyes flicking between the three different timers set up on the windowsill.  I could tell she noticed me from the set of her shoulders, but she didn't look around until she had finished everything she was doing.

"Hello, Hermione."

She had her hair pulled back tight, though a few curls still managed to escape here and there in a way that was somehow as artful as it was natural.  She looked freshly scrubbed, wearing no make-up, at least that I could tell.  Gabrielle would laugh at me, and talk about how much make-up it takes to look as if you aren't wearing any, but I think it true of Hermione.  Her vanity has never been particularly physical.

"Viktor," she said.  She managed something of a smile.  "I wasn't expecting you."

Rose hadn't told her then.  I gave her a look, but Rose just shrugged and slipped out of the room, leaving us alone.  In the background, I could hear Hugo challenging her to Snap and her complaining that he always won.  I couldn't think of anything to say that wasn't horribly mundane.  Hermione was waiting.

I said, "I would have been earlier, if I could.  There were problems with the International Floo.  Something to do with jumping?"

"It's something of a sport," Hermione said.  "People sneak their way into the network from unregistered Floos and bounce around all over the place, sending legitimate users to all the wrong exits.  It's been driving the MLE crazy for months.  No one knows how they're doing it."

I wanted to ask her how she was.  I didn't.  I wanted to tell her that she looked good.  I didn't.

"Harry was here?" I asked.

"You just missed him," she agreed.  "Would you like to join us for dinner?  I made enough."

I agreed, of course, and we both pretended she had been cooking for Harry.  Habit is the worst thing.  I still wake up at five every day for flying practice, though it has been years since I last flew competitively.  I told Hermione this, and somehow ended up talking about how Gabrielle goes swimming every morning and whether Veelas and mermen could share a common ancestor. This turned into an argument with Hugo and Rose, who both have their mother's intelligence, though Hugo takes after Ron more in looks.

Hermione joined in the conversation now and again, but she spent most of the meal toying with her food, and watching the candles flicker.

I offered to pour more wine.  I had to ask her twice before she noticed, and she managed only a vague nod.  I poured half for myself, and a generous glass for her, and a little for Rose when she looked hopefully at me.  I thought perhaps Hermione would say something to this, but she did not.

"She's been like this since Christmas Eve," Hugo said, not looking up from his plate even when Rose tried to kick him under the table.

"Christmas Eve?" I asked before I could stop myself.  It was another habit I had never quite fully trained myself out of, like catching the snitch before checking the score.

"I ran into someone I'd rather not have," Hermione said.

And for a while, that was that.  Rose chatted, as best she could, and Hugo, and I answered, but mostly I was watching Hermione.  She had that distracted air about her, the way she always had when working on a problem.  She used to wear it all the time with her nose in this book or that.  It is, perhaps, the first look of hers I ever noticed.  Puzzles consumed her until they could be solved.

Death has no solution.  I need a drink.

_Later_

  
After eating, Hermione sent the kids off to play while we took care of the clearing up.  It would have been simpler to do it by magic, but Hermione seemed to prefer the routine of washing by hand.  I offered to dry, and did so.  She'd mentioned Harry once or twice over dinner, and it seemed like they had been fighting.  I wanted to ask why, but couldn't think of a way to bring it up.

I was still trying to ease into it when Hermione said, out of nowhere, "Pansy said she'd been meeting with Ron."

I asked who Pansy was.

"Pansy Parkinson.  We went to school together."  Hermione gave a small, mirthless laugh.  "At the same time would be more accurate.  It would be fair to say I hated her at the time.  Such a spiteful little girl."

"Not the one who kept writing letters of support for those people who attacked your wedding?" I asked.

"The Knights of Walpurgis.  I thought I was bad at acronyms."  It was the first genuine smile I had seen from her all evening.  "At least I didn't call my big bad organisation the KoWs.  You know," she added, her smile turning misty, "I think Bill got us all cursed.  There hasn't been a quiet Weasley wedding since his."

Twenty years was a long time.  Still, I could remember Hermione in her floaty, lilac dress, her hair down sleek and shiny as it had been at the Yule Ball.  I remembered Ron whisking her away before I could ask her to dance.  I remembered Harry, disguised but giving himself away with his odd question about wands and the way he bristled when I made advances at Ginny. But mostly I remembered Hermione, and the way they had gone together, and the months after of not knowing where she was, of trying so hard to trust Harry to keep her safe, Harry and Ron.

"She was wearing a necklace," Hermione said.  It took me a moment to realise she meant Pansy. "A tasteful thing, not the usual gaudy, costume jewellery rubbish she usually wears.  Something bought for her, not by her."

"By a lover?" I suggested, only afterwards understanding where this was going.  "Hermione, no."

"There was a letter," Hermione said.  "When I was sorting through Ron's papers, there was a letter from a jewellery store.  A receipt, with nothing to go with it."

I would not believe it of him.  Ron had his faults.  On dark days, I liked to list them to myself over a firewhiskey or three.  Love is an unfair thing.  Still, he would never be so cruel or so cheap, not intentionally.

"It's a coincidence," I told her.  "It was Christmas.  Everybody gets new things."

She nodded, silently.

I asked, "Do you really think Ron would cheat on you?"

Hermione was silent for so long, I almost asked again, but then she said, "It's just Pansy being Pansy.  I know that."

"Then--" I prompted.

"There's just so much that doesn't quite add up.  Ron was off before, secretive, but Harry's right, too, that there's nothing, no evidence, not even a--"  

Hermione didn't say body but we both heard it.

"And you're right, and everybody's right, and I know not everything comes together in a neat little bow.  I do know that."

She picked up a plate to wash it, but her hands were shaking too much and she put it down.

"I never believed we were invulnerable.  We lost so much fighting Voldemort.  Ron's come home with so many cuts and bruises over the years I can do healing charms in my sleep.  I've always thought there might be one case too many.  But this!  This is just nothing!  It's nothing.  The worst of it is, I don't even know if he really was behaving oddly, or I'm just inventing things because I want this to make sense, when it can't, when it won't."

She tried to pick up the plate again, and dropped it.  I caught it before it could hit, put it aside, and took her hands in mine.  She looked at them.

"I want to blame him," she said.  "I do blame him.  I try to feel sad but I just get so angry, and I don't want to be angry, but that just makes me madder and it  _hurts_ \--"

I pulled her against me, holding her tight, feeling her shake against me.

"I hate him," she said.

"You don't."

"I hate him," she said again.  "How dare he?  How dare he leave me  _again_?"

I can not adequately describe the noise she made, neither sob, nor keen, nor growl of rage, but some part of all, raw and deep with loss.  I could not say anything.  What was there to say?  In the end, life betrays us all.  I held her, as best I could, and pressed a kiss against her curls, and hoped she could take some small measure of comfort from silence.

When I looked up, Hugo was watching us from the doorway, but he said nothing before he left.

*  
**Notable entries, Gringotts visitor log**

**  
   date    -   person     -                 
** **  
reason             - duration  
**

05/01/2022 - H. Weasley   - see Griphook, records request    - 19mins  
                              denied

06/01/2022 - H. Weasley   - see Grabnail, records request    - 4hrs  
                            denied

07/01/2022 - H. Weasley   - see N. MacDonald, visitor        - 6mins  
                                             request denied

07/01/2022 - P. Parkinson - see Griphook, requested access   - 19mins  
                            to visitor's log denied

15/01/2022 - R. Skeeter   - see Griphook, Prophet Business,  - 4hrs  
                            visitor's log access requested  
                            under freedom of information act

*

**Daily Prophet, Jan 16th, 2022**

**POTTER COVER-UP?**  
_by Rita Skeeter_

It has been described as "a terrible accident" by Head Auror Potter and resolved by a closed Ministry tribunal, but the Muggle explosion that allegedly claimed the life of Auror Ronald Weasley last December has yet to be given any satisfactory official explanation.  Despite the repeated touting of gas leaks as a probable cause by the Ministry, neither the Auror office or the Department of Mysteries have gone public with details.  In fact, both deny that such details exist, leading us to wonder what, exactly, we are not being told.

Was there a proper investigation into the death at all?  Is the Auror office once again trying to cover up it's own ineffectual methods, or perhaps the incompetence of Weasley?  As the Trace tells us, Weasley entered the building; it was subsequently destroyed.  It doesn't take three years of MLE training to connect the two; training which, we note, the current Head Auror never actually underwent, being shepherded directly into the role under the auspices of Kingsley Shacklebolt.

We have reported a number of occasions over the past few years where Aurors, lacking Dark wizards to investigate, have been insinuating themselves into Law Enforcement squads and patrols, often taking an active interest in cases well outside their purviews.  Weasley's father was once the head of the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts office and was well known for keeping enchanted Muggle objects for himself.  Sirius Black, Auror Potter's godfather and posthumously exonerated murderer, himself had an enchanted motorbike capable of flight.  It's well known that Weasley drove a Muggle car.  It wouldn't be the first time Weasley has taken magical business into the Muggle world in the name of doing his job, although the first with such fatal consequences.

Or could it be someone else that Potter is trying to protect?  This reporter can reveal that a woman, whose name must be kept secret to protect the source from unjust discrimination of the part of interested authorities, has claimed to have become close to Weasley prior to his death.  A source inside the Ministry has revealed that Weasley was behaving secretively during the same months.  Slim evidence, one must admit, but there are rarely sparks without wands.  Could the reticence on the part of Potter to fully and publicly investigate this matter be, in part, because he wishes to protect Ms Granger, a long time, close friend, from the fallout of her late husbands besmirched reputation.

If so, he isn't doing the best job.  Ms Granger has been seen about town on a number of occasions in the last few weeks, conducting her own secretive interviews.  Perhaps she too seeks the truth -- or seeks to suppress it.  Ms Granger herself has lately been seen in the company of former Quidditch star Viktor Krum, who had been romantically linked to Ms Granger before her wedding to the deceased Auror Weasley, and who remains in close contact with the family.

*

Monochrome instamatic Wizarding photograph, 3" x 3"; Viktor Krum has him arms slung across the shoulders of Ron and Hermione Weasley who are each holding one handle of the 2002 World Quidditch Tournament trophy, Ron mugging for the camera and Hermione affectionately rolling her eyes at him; Viktor grins smugly and laughs; photograph taken by Harry Potter.

*

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,  
Hogsmeade,  
Scotland  
  
January 20th, 2022

  
Dear Mrs. Weasley,

It is my unfortunate duty to have to inform you that your son, Hugo, was involved in an altercation which lead to a number of pupils being confined to the Hospital Wing.  Hugo is physically fit, please allow me to allay your fears on that score, but I feel there are some underlying issues that need to be addressed, not least of which is that all reports suggest Hugo both instigated and escalated the situation from a verbal to a physical conflict, though they are conflicted on who actually cast the first charm.  I can assure you that we will be investigating the situation with all due alacrity and authority, and the exact details will be determined herewith.

Nevertheless, given the circumstances, I feel it behoves us to request your presence at a personal Teacher-Parent conference at your earliest convenience so that we may discuss any issues that may arise, or, evidence would suggest, have arisen, as a result of your recent bereavement, for which I once again share our condolences.  I look forward to talking with you, and hope we can resolve this to our mutual benefit, and in a way that will help Hugo reintegrate into Hogwarts society.  You may respond by owl, or contact me, the Deputy, or the head of Ravenclaw House by floo during the usual office hours.

Yours sincerely,

Professor Arturo Flynn, D.Phil, D.Thaum, FotRC  
Headmaster

*

**Extract from the private papers of Arturo Flynn, Jan 20th, 2022**

Sad to say, the meeting between myself, Mrs Weasley, and young Hugo went as well as was to be suspected, which is to say not at all.  Hugo proved belligerent and recalcitrant, and while I am given to understand some newspaper article gave rise to an alleged insult, the details continue to elude me.  It never ceases to me amaze how children can go from being at each other's throats one minute to a unified silent front the next.  I would consider it miraculous were it not as often true that the most amiable of acquaintances can suddenly become vicious enemies in the same space of time.

We are vast, as that Muggle wrote.  We contain multitudes.

Hugo has always been a good boy.  Sybll and Horace both seem quite taken with him.  Neville and Victoire do too, of course, though they are family, and that is only to be expected.  (Though, sadly, even these simple expectations fail on occasion, and Higgs complete indifference to his son's behaviour continues to disturb me.)  A tragedy like losing a parent effects a person deeply; this goes without saying.  Still, the changes in him lately are profound enough that even I, who sees him only briefly in passing in corridors and at meals, notice them -- yet subtle enough that I find myself hard put to pick what, exactly, they are.  It is almost as if he is playing at being himself, alternatively trying too hard or not hard enough.

I fear his resolution makes some deeper depression.  He is clearly suppressing his reaction to his father's death.  Mrs Weasly is just as clearly under great strain herself.  It was heart-breaking to watch her with him, the awkwardness of it, how she could not decide between berating and comforting him.  I feel I may have overstated the case when I suggested regular counselling appointments be set up for Hugo at St. Mungo's with a qualified Legilimens.  Thinking it over, I find it is true that I thought such treatment might benefit her as well, though I had not meant to suggest as much at the time.

The mind is a strange and fickle thing.  Sometimes it is sharp and bright and ready at your command, while at other times it slides around you, letting secrets slip out unnoticed amidst your words.  I often feel it is a thing we should study more in a general way.  No doubt the Unspeakables would insist that it lies in their provenance and come down heavily on anyone who tried to claim otherwise.  Is it any wonder I prefer to teach these days?

*

**Extract, Viktor Krum's Journals, January 21st, 2022**

Hermione returned from Hogwarts in a rare mood.  I tried to make her a cup of tea, but she just huffed barely half-way through, banished my efforts and made it again from scratch, giving clear tea-making instructions in between her ongoing rant on the evils of interfering Professors.

"How dare he?  Trying to tell me how to raise my son, I mean, honestly!  The  _nerve_  of the man!"

Having never met the headmaster in question, I could not comment.  From what I have heard told of him, he seems neither particularly good nor bad, though I have known many to hide themselves under masks of common blandness, as Dumbledore hid a will of steel behind twinkling geniality.

"People grieve in different ways," Hermione told me.  "There is a general process, a series of stages that people generally go through, but it's a sketch, not a map.  Not everyone goes through every stage, or through them in the same order.  There is an uncomfortable tendency for wizards to treat psychology as if it was the steps of a potion or the moves of a charm.  You can't just insert real people in and get a neat answer out the other end.  People are far too complicated for that."

I nodded and sipped at the tea she had made.  It was perfect, of course.

"I'm not taking him somewhere to be prodded at by Healers.  There's nothing wrong with him.  He just gets these moods sometimes."

I'd sat for the children a few dozen times and seen this first hand.  Not that Rose hadn't had her own cranky phases, but Hugo could go from laughing all the over place to dreamy or gloomy introspection, from calm to calamitous at a click of the fingers.  Usually, you could just wait them out.  I was not sure this was one of those times, and said so.

"I don't want to pull him out of Hogwarts," Hermione said.  "It will just make things worse with the other children when he goes back.  Routine is good.  It keeps you going."

"And that's what Hugo needs?" I asked.

Hermione started to answer and then stopped.  She frowned thoughtfully at her tea.  I sipped at mine.  The kitchen clock ticked.  I do not understand how people can stand to have ticking clocks around them all the time.

"Sometimes I think I've never understood what Hugo needs," Hermione admitted.  "Rose, I understand.  She's as much like her father as she is me, too absorbed by things, too quick to temper, always wanting to fix things.  But Hugo is...  It took him so long to show his magic, we thought he might be a Squib."

"My brother was," I heard myself say.  It is not something we talk about, and I do not think I had told her before, but she just nodded.  I told her, "You just work it out, the way you do anything.  It wouldn't have mattered to you if he was."

"I think it might have," Hermione said quietly.  "I know how terrible that sounds.  I'm not saying we would have loved him any less, but.  I don't know.  Ron has a Squib uncle, an accountant.  They just never talk about him.  No one ever talks about it, not even now, for all we've done.  And I was so relieved when his magic came in, and it felt like I'd betrayed him too.  I still feel like I've failed him somehow.  That there was something I could have done, something  _more_."

"You went and shouted at his headmaster for him," I pointed out.

"I'm sure he was incredibly embarrassed," Hermione said, but I saw her smile.  After a moment, she added, "You wouldn't believe the number of books I've read on child rearing and child psychology, both Muggle and wizard.  They all sound so good, and they all break down the second you get a real child involved.  Not to mention the way they all contradict each other.  Really, it's like no-one has even heard of experimental rigour!"

A chuckled slipped from me.  Hermione smiled a little sheepishly back.

"Well," she said.

We both smiled, but hers soon faded.

"I don't know what to do for Hugo."

"You're there for him," I said.  "That's not nothing."

"I know."  She managed a shaky smile.  "You know us Gryffindors.  We do like a nice blind rush into things now and again."

Durmstrang does not arrange its years into houses in the same way.  It doesn't cling to us the way it does to those shepherded through Hogwarts.  We are twisted in entirely different ways, I suppose.  Some other time I will ask Hermione about this.  I value her insight, her outside perspective.  She sees things we can not.  Thinking of this, I say, "Hugo's a Ravenclaw."

She nodded.  "Studious and smart.  He has so many questions."

"If he needs answers," I said, "then someone should go and get them."

The you was heavily implied.  Both times.  Hermione looked at me sharply, and then nodded again, with sudden vigour.  "You're right.  Of course you're right."

"Anything I can do," I said.

"Thank you.  I really can't thank you enough, Viktor," Hermione said.  She reached out to take my hands in hers, and I let her, our fingers threaded.  "You've been so good through all of this.  I'm glad you're staying."

She squeezed my hands.

I managed a smile and said, "For as long as you need me."

*

DoM, MoM  
21/1

  
Nat,

You'll never guess who just came in to see me!  Hermione Weasley!  I haven't seen her for ages.  I've said it before, but she really would have made a good Unspeakable; she's ever so smart, and she invented charms by herself when she was still in Hogwarts, and she really likes to check up on everything just to make sure of stuff, which is pretty much what research is, really.

And that's why she came, the checking up thing, because she wanted another opinion on the forensic evidence from when Ron died (that was really sad!).  I told her that Harry already had me go over the first report -- I told you about that before, right?  And I went through all the forensic tests with her, and I even got Blaise to come in and go through them as well, because he invented half of them.  He still gets annoyed that he wasted time trying to work out how Muggleborns had stolen magic before he worked out it was Death Eater propoganda, but I pointed out that we use tracing magic based on his research now, so it wasn't really wasted time.  Anyway, he didn't really want to talk to Hermione, you know how he gets, but I talked him into it.  He's coming around for dinner, by the way.  You should dress up, I'll take you both somewhere nice.  We could try the Crescent!  Oh, Blaise says no.  Well, I'll think of something later.

So we went over all the forensics with Hermione, and she asked lots of questions.  If something happened to you, I don't think I'd be anything like as sensible about it.  But there really wasn't all that much to tell, to be honest.  I mean, I told her the only really weird thing about the place was how little magic residue there actually was, even less than the surrounding background magic (although that could have been higher than normal because of the Obliviators, so it's kinda hard to be exact; they really should have let us have the case in the first place, we would have been much better at it.) Blaise still thinks this is because the explosion was so hot it actually ignited magic itself, which I don't think is possible.  We both tried asking Stebbins if we could test the idea, but he told us we weren't allow to blow anything else up, and if we even thought about doing it, he would fire us.  Which is a bit silly, really, because unless he has us followed around all the time by Legilimens, how would he know what we are thinking about?  I'm sure you can't get tracking charms that accurate.  Well, unless you

Blaise reminded me I was writing this letter!  Sorry, I got distracted trying to research things.  So, no, we couldn't help Hermione with that, but then she said Gringotts had been giving her the run around about some records you apparently pulled for Ron Weasley a bit before he died?  So I explained about how we were, you know, us, and I said I'd ask you, but I already told her that you might not be able to help, because the bank doesn't like that sort of thing.  But maybe you could just tell her what was in the files, without showing them to her?  Blaise says that's probably not allowed either, but I think paraphrasing is different from telling people things straight, so maybe.  Anyway, I didn't promise you would do anything, only that I would ask, so I have, and you can tell her or not, however you want.

See you later!

Love,  
Dennis

*

Ravenclaw Tower,  
Hogwarts,  
22/1/22

  
Dear Mum,

I'm sorry I got in a fight and made the Headmaster have to call you all the way to the school.  I promise I'll try not to get in any more, and be the better man when other people start stuff.  Rose says that isn't a proper apology, but I really am sorry.  It was pretty stupid, really.  I shouldn't have got so mad.

Can you please tell Rose that she doesn't need to follow me everywhere?  I'm going to be thirteen soon.  I don't need a baby sitter, especially not my sister.  Plus she's probably going to fail all her OWLs because she's here all the time.

Rose says to say she isn't, and that she actually gets more work done in Ravenclaw with me than she does in Gryffindor.  Sometimes I think maybe she got sorted into the wrong house, except she gets really annoyed when the other Ravenclaws argue the opposite to whatever she's said.  I keep telling her they're just winding her up, but it's like she can't help herself.  It's very strange.  She's pulling faces at me now.  And telling me not to put that in the letter, but I already did and I do not know this 'erase' thing of which she speaks.

Also she is very pretty and smart and kind and I am very grateful she would take some of her precious time and spend it with her bratty little brother, and she in no way forced me to write that at all.

Anyway, I've been tidying stuff up in detention, and did you know that Hogwarts has a hu~~~~ge collection of old photos and things from years and years ago?  There's photos of Prof Neville's gran as a first year.  He laughed so much when I showed him that I had to go and convince the Free Elves to bring us some pumpkin juice before he choked to death.  They go back so far, some of the really old ones don't even move and some of them are all brown and silvery, which makes everyone look really mean and crazy.  Rose told me what they were called, but we need a dictionary and I've got to finish this quick so I can get to Owlrey and back before curfew.

There were some pictures of you and dad as kids, and Uncle Harry and everybody, and Prof Neville taught me how to make duplicates, so I'm sending them on to you, and you can show them to everyone else.

Rose says to say classes are going well, and we'll both write again, which is a bit much really, since writing this was my idea in the first place.  Okay, have to go, bye!

Love  
Hugo (& Rose)

PS: Don't forget to pet the cat.

*

Colour Wizarding photograph, 6" x 4"; the Burrow, c. February 1999; a laughing, crying Hermione Granger (age 19) is kneeling on the snowy ground with a sunburnt Ron Weasley (age 18), his arms around her, as an ecstatic Crookshanks climbs all over the two of them; Hermione's well-tanned parents are standing just in shot, all four of them not dressed for the weather; photograph taken by A. Weasley.

*

**Daily Prophet, Jul 2018**

It is the sad duty of the Prophet to today announce the death of Mrs Arabella Figg, aged 117, at her home of 17 Wisteria Walk, Little Whinging, Surrey.  It is believed that Mrs Figg died peacefully in her sleep.  A member of the original Order of the Phoenix, Mrs Figg watched over Harry Potter for almost two decades.  An award winning breeder of prize Kneazles for shows, Mrs Figg was presented with the Order of Bast for her paper, 'The Social Habits of a combined clowder of Kneazle and part-Kneazles', the first Squib to be so honoured.  Mrs Figg has no surviving relatives.  Her funeral will be held on Sunday, paid for by H. Potter.  Friends and guests are invited to the service.  Donations should be made to the Give A Kneazle A Home Foundation.

*

Colour Wizarding photograph, 8" x 6"; the River House, c. July 2018; laughing, Ron (age 38), Hermione (age 38) and Rose Weasley (age 12) are crowded together into a garden swing chair and covered by a dozen playful kneazle kittens; photograph taken by H. Weasley, whose reflection can be seen in the windows of the house behind the chair.

*

**MINISTRY OF LAW ENFORCEMENT  
INCIDENT REPORT**

Report Number: X-147-K-255

INCIDENT DATA:

Occurred: 23/01/2022  1000 HRS  
Date Reported: 23/01/2022

Incident Type: Curse Attempt  
Address of Occurrence: The River House, Kingston-Upon-Thames

Reporting Officer: A. Dobbins (MLE-8495-DOB)

Copies to: AUROR OFFICE

REPORTING PARTY:

Name: WEASLEY, HERMIONE J  
Relation: VICTIM  
Sex: FEMALE  
Place of birth: ASCOT, BERKSHIRE  
Age: 42  
Marital Status: WIDOWED  
Home Address: THE RIVER HOUSE,  
KINGSTON UPON THAMES  
Occupation: LAWYER

VICTIM:

Incident reported by victim: YES

WITNESS:

Name: KRUM, VIKTOR  
Relation: FRIEND OF VICTIM  
Sex: MALE  
Place of birth: VIDIN, BULGARIA  
Age: 46  
Marital Status: DIVORCED  
Home Address: THE BROOM AND SNITCH,  
GENEVA  
SWITZERLAND  
Occupation: REPRESENTATIVE

NARRATIVE:

Mrs Hermione Weasley (hereafter HW) exited her premises (see photo A) at at approximately 10 a.m.  HW did not see anyone around.  HW bent down to pet her cat.  A curse narrowly missed her and struck the door (see photo B).

Viktor Krum (hereafter VK), who had been arriving to visit HW, saw the attack and responded with a shield charm that deflected a second curse.  While VK's arrival distracted the assailant, HW was able to partially breach the assailants Dissilusionment charm with an undirected Banishment charm.  Subsequent stunners and binding spells from both HW and VK were deflected and the assailant immediately moved back into Muggle London, restricting their ability to press the attack.

Pursuit was maintained by foot, but the assailant Apparated as soon as they were the minimum distance from the River House's wards.  An Obliviator squad arrived onsite immediately, but no breach of the International Secrecy Statutes occured, nor were they able to trace the Apparation, disturbed as it was by their own arrival.

The assailant was wearing a black cloak of generic design with no significant features.  Neither HW or VK were able to determine the gender of the assailant.  HW believed the assailant had light coloured hair and a particularly long wand.  VK suggested it might have been vine, but HW could not confirm this, nor could VK confirm the colour of the hair.

*

Item: a Muggle-style brass magnifying glass with a four inch lens and an eleven inch decorative handle inlaid with mother of perl, complete with a velvet lined, ebony-finished display case.  Handle is inscribed in small, printed letters, "Vision is the art of seeing what is invisible to others."  Purchased by H. Weasley.

*

Internal Memo to  
Auror Office, Level 2  
  
16th December, 2021

  
Sir,

As per your request, a copy of the incident report is attached to this letter.  A summary follows.  Please query this office if further explanations are required.

The Office of Magical Forensics was alerted by general bulletin on the date in question in accordance with the Forensics Act of 2007.  Two Unspeakables, Evan Dawlish and myself, Apparated to a safe entry point and closed the rest of the way on foot.  Approach to the site directly was hampered by the heat emanating from the ruins.  Determining that there were no witnesses to the initial blast, Obliviators were despatched to deal with the witnesses while we investigated.

The standard minor sweep and full sweep routines were followed according to procedure.  No credible forensic evidence was found.  It was determined that the explosion did not have a magical cause.  The extent of the fire was such that all physical evidence was destroyed.  Spectroscopic analysis demonstrated the presence of natural gas that matched the local Muggle pipelines.

It is the opinion of this office that:

\- there were no credible witnesses  
\- the ignition, and consequent inferno, were of Muggle origin  
\- that anyone inside the building would have been killed instantly  
\- that there were no unaccounted Apparation traces within a mile radius  
\- that there were no unaccounted magical traces within a quarter-mile radius

The conclusion of the Office of Magical Forensics is therefore that Auror Weasley is deceased.

I am sorry for your loss.

Yours respectfully,  
L. Moon,

Office of Magical Forensics,  
Department of Mysteries

cc: Wizengamot Administraton Services

*  


From the office of:  
**Wizengamot Administration Services** ,  
Ministry of Magic,  
London,  
SE5  
  
19th January 2022  
  
Our Ref: JK-4-RW-R19-S8-DCD

  
Dear Auror Potter,

We have received documentation pertaining to the matter of Auror Weasley.

The witness reports are complete.  A full sweep of the surrounding area has taken place, and no further evidence or witnesses seem likely.  The MLE and DoM reports are complete and filed, and it is the opinion of both that Auror Weasley was the victim of an unfortunate Muggle accident.

We must ask, therefore, why the case has not been closed.  We remind you that, should your personal involvement constitute a conflict of interest, you are bound to transfer the case to the Ministry of Law Enforcement proper for due processing.

Yours sincerely,

Ignatius Ogden,  
Senior Mugwump, Wizengamot

cc: Attorneys' Office,  
Department of Magical Law Enforcement

*

Auror Department,  
Ministry of Magic,  
London,  
SE5  
  
20/01/2022  
  
Re:  JK-4-RW-R19-S8-DCD

  
Dear Mr Ogden,

It is the duty of this office to see that the death of any member of the Auror Department or, indeed, the Depart of Magical Law Enforcement, is investigated to all possible satisfaction.  While the MLE and the DoM may be sure of their conclusions, this Department is not, nor are the members of the deceased's family.  I have included copies of their numerous letters on the subject for your perusal.

While there remains even the slightest possibility that a more complete picture of events might emerge, I believe we owe it to Auror Weasley and to his family to do everything we can to let him rest in peace, including allowing the case to remain open.  I can assure the Wizengamot that no undue resources are being tasked to it and that there is no conflict of interest. 

As members of the team, I believe we are all personal involved in any such case, particularly one that includes the death of a well-respected, multiply-decorated officer.

Harry Potter,  
Head Auror, OoM1

*

**St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries**  
Anonymous Admission Report (Ministry of Law Enforcement Copy)

Admissions date: 23/01/2022  
Attendant:  MEDIWITCH KIM JONES.

DESCRIPTION:

Name(s) or nickname(s) known: NONE  
Registered Name: JANE DOE #28415

Age (indicate if approximate): 70S (APPROX)  
Height: 5' 5"  
Weight: 145 LBS

Hair: BLONDE (BLEACHED, HEAVILY STYLED)  
Eyes: GREEN (SLIGHT ASTIGMATISM)

Distinguishing features:  
\- HEAVY JAW  
\- THREE GOLD TEETH  
\- LARGE HANDS (LONG, RED, PRESS-ON NAILS)  
\- PENCILLED-EYEBROWS

ITEMS:

ONE (1) WAND  
ONE (1) PAIR OF RHINESTONE GLASSES, BROKEN  
THREE (3) BROKEN QUILLS  
ONE (1) BROKEN QUICK-QUOTES QUILL (SHOWS SIGN OF FIRE DAMAGE)  
A FEW SCRAPS OF BURNT PARCHMENT  
A FEW SCRAPS OF WHAT APPEARS TO BE CROCODILE SKIN (IDENTIFICATION AWAITED FROM DEPARTMENT OF MYSTERIES)

MEDICAL DATA:

Current spell damage: PROBABLE OBLIVIATE, POSSIBLE CRUCIO  
Current potion damage: SLIGHT RAISED BLOOD ALCOHOL LEVEL  
Current physical damage: SOME SLIGHT BLISTERING OF THE HANDS, BRUISING ON THE UPPER ARMS AND LEGS CONSISTENT WITH A MINOR FALL OR STRUGGLE

Historical spell damage: NO OBVIOUS SIGNS  
Historical potion damage: INDICATIONS OF LONG TERM EXPOSURE TO ALCOHOL AND TO DREAMLESS SLEEP POTIONS  
Historical physical damage: INDICATIONS OF PREVIOUSLY FIXED BREAK TO NOSE, FINGERS, AND LOWER LEGS (BETWEEN 20 AND 25 YEARS OLD)

ADMISSIONS HISTORY:

The patient was found wandering in Diagon Alley, clutching the scraps.  Patient was genial and responsive to questions.  Patient was quite surprised to discover wand and caused minor accidental spell damage.  Medical team took custody with no further incidents.  Patient submitted to scans with much curiosity, interrogating staff as to the meaning, technique and history of the spells performed.  Temporary glasses provided and patient confined to Spell Damage Ward until MLE investigation complete.

*

Gringotts Wizarding Bank  
British Office,  
Diagon Alley,  
London  
SE5  
  
23rd January, 2022

  
**Disclaimer:**   _the following is a personal letter from a member of Gringotts' staff and, as such, does not necessarily reflect the views or opinions of Gringotts Bank, nor may any information in it be considered legally binding on the same.  This letter complies with the International Financial Ethics Acts of 1787, 1842, 1903 and 2019.  Reviewed by Nornuk._

Dear Hermione,

I am writing to you as Dennis asked, but I'm afraid there is very little I am allowed to tell you about the files Ron requested.  Gringotts take security and privacy very seriously.

I can tell you the files were regarding purchases on behalf of the Higgs Group.  As you may or may not know, a number of previously solely Wizarding companies have taken advantage of the economic conditions in Muggle Britain to buy up plots of disused Muggle buildings to use as storage or other limited access space.  Since this requires the transfer of funds between Wizarding and Muggle banks, all such transactions are handled directly by Gringotts.  I can't tell you the number of properties or their location, but I can tell you they were a number of warehouses in docking zones.

Exact details can only be given with written approval from any one of the directors of the Higgs Group or their legal representatives.

While you could subpoena the files, I think it only fair to tell you that Gringotts would do everything in their power to keep them out of your hands, including tying you up on legal battles for years, during which time the Higgs Group would no doubt have weaselled their way out of the accounts, leading to said files being automatically destroyed.

I'm sorry I can't be of more help to you.

Respectfully yours,

Natalie MacDonald

*  


The River House,  
Kingston-Upon-Thames,  
KT3  
  
24/01

  
Dear Draco,

While I am aware relations between us have not been, nor will ever be, particularly friendly, I believe we have managed, at least, a certain amicable cordiality due to the friendship of our children.  It is in that name that I am writing to you, to ask if you would please meet with me.

As you may know, before Ron died, he had requested a number of files from Gringotts on the Higgs Group, of which you are a notable member.  Please do not take this as an accusation, but it's possible some of those files related to the warehouse he was killed in, and I would really like to talk to you about them.

I hope Astoria and Scorpius are keeping well.  Please send them my regards.

Best wishes,  
Hermione

*

From the offices of:  
**The Ministry of Law Enforcement**  
Ministry of Magic,  
London,  
SE5  
  
January 29th, 2022  
  
Our Ref: DM-HG-169-K

  
Dear Mister Malfoy,

The Ministry of Law Enforcement considers you a person of interest in an ongoing homicide investigation.

I would much prefer to discuss the matter in an informal interview.  Should you continue in your refusal to acknowledge my attempts at communication, however, I shall have no recourse but to an issue an order for a formal interview with the full weight of the law and the Ministry behind it.

In order to ensure that you would be aware of such an order, full pages would be taken out in all major publications, and appropriate posters would be flown in all major Wizarding centres, both in Britain, and in mainland Europe.  You may also be held liable for any costs such an endeavour might bring to the Ministry.

Awaiting your prompt response, I remain,

Sincerely yours,

Hermione Granger,  
Department Head,  
Ministry Attorneys' Office

cc: Harry Potter,  
Auror Department

*  


Interoffice Memo,  
30/01

  
Hermione,

I don't know what you think you're doing, but you better hope it doesn't blow up in your face.  You can't use the Ministry to threaten people.  I'm pretty sure you wrote the rules that says that!  I'm going to get Sarah to lose the paperwork and you should do the same.

Seriously, will you come and talk to me?  I feel like I never see you any more.  I miss Ron too, you know.

Love,  
Harry

*

**Automated Recording, Interview Room One, Feb 4th, 2022**

CD: Interview begins, 10:12 a.m., February 4th, 2022.  Suspect present, one Draco Malfoy.  Interviewing are Auror Calvin T. Dawson, speaking, and Head Auror Harry J. Potter.  Have you had your rights explained to you, Mister Malfoy?  

_(rustling)_

CD: Please speak for the record.

DM: I have.  I wave them all.

HP: Are you insane?

DM: Is that your usual interview technique, Potter?  No wonder they took you out of the field and gave you a desk job.

CD: He has the right to waive his rights.

HP: And to reclaim them whenever he wants.

DM: Yes, yes.  Can we get on with this?

HP: What are you up to?

DM: I'm confessing to killing the Weasel.

HP: Don't call him that.

DM: I've done far worse to him, Potter; I don't think he's going to care -- whoa there!

CD: Harry!

DM: You still have the most dreadful temper, Potter.

HP: You have an alibi for the night in question.  I was at the damn party, Draco!

DM: And you saw me there the entire time, did you?

_(a pause)_

CD: Okay, let's go over this from the top.  To be honest, I've never had anyone actually just walk into the building and give themselves up before.  Usually they wait for us to come and get them.  Why didn't you?

DM: My civic duty overwhelmed me.

_(HP scoffs.)_

DM: Maybe I just got bored waiting for you to work out what happened.  Did you even bother investigating?

CD: Harry.

HP: I don't know what your game is, Malfoy--

DM: What happened to 'Draco'?

HP: You're a crap liar.  You've always been a crap liar.  And you're not a murderer.  I know you're not.

DM: People change when they grow up, Potter.  If you'd ever bothered doing that, you might have noticed.

CD: Could you--

DM: The rivalry between our families is well known.  Weasley pushed me, I killed him, and then I destroyed the warehouse up to cover my tracks.  Finding I couldn't live with what I've done, I have come to confess.  As a former Slytherin and Death Eater, a Malfoy and a known associate of criminal elements, I'm sure you'll have no trouble find a jury of my peers who will happily see me before a squad of Hitwizards before you can say 'he did it'.  So could we--

_(a bang and a crash)_

SM: Father!

HP: Albus!

CD: Er, Albus Potter and Scorpius Malfoy have entered the--

AP: I'm sorry, dad; we were waiting for you in reception when--

SM: Father!  What--

DM: Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy!

_(a scuffle)_

DM: Potter, what is the meaning of this--

AP: I couldn't stop him!  I tried!

HP: When I said we could have lunch, I didn't-- This is a closed--

AP: I know!  I know! I'm sorry!

DM: Scorpius, what could you possibly--

SM: Let him go!  He didn't do anything.

CD: He came in and confessed of his own free will, kid.  It's on Quill and everything.

SM: What?

DM: Scorpius.  I will explain this all to you later, but you have to leave now, so these men can conduct their interview.

SM: You're lying.  You're lying!

DM: Scorpius!

SM: Why are you--?

SM: It was me.  I did it.  He's trying to cover up for me, but it was me, not him, and you should arrest me.

AP, DM, HP: Scorpius!

CD: ...should I arrest him too?

HP: No one is arresting anybody.  Could you all just please--

SM: But I did it, though.  So you should let my father go, now, please.

HP: Scorpius, son--

DM: Don't call him that!

AP: Do you even know what you're confessing to?

SM: Crimes!  Anyway, I don't have to answer questions without a representative.  I'm underage!

CD: Which means your mother has to be here when we question you, because your father is under charge.

DM: No!  I will not have my wife dragged into a mess of my own making.  Scorpius's loyalty, while commendable, is misplaced in this instance.

SM: No, it isn't!

DM: Potter, please!

SM: I'm not going anywhere without my father, and you can't make me.

AP: I can bloody stun you, you idiot!

HP: Albus Severus Potter, you put your wand away right now, young man!

AP: But--!

HP: I will call your mother!

DM: I've changed my mind.  I want a representative.

CD: You already confessed!

SM: No, I confessed!

AP, DM, HP: Scorpius!

DM: Potter, I expect you to take care of my son.

SM: What?  No!

AP: Scorpius, please!

HP: Scorpius, it's okay.  We'll sort this out.  Just, please, go with Albus.

SM: I'm not leaving without my father!

HP: Fine.  Okay, fine.  But we have to do paperwork, okay?  To make it formal and legal.  So, right now, I need you to go and wait in my office with Albus.  Albus, the password is--

AP: I know.

HP: Of course you do.  Please, Scorpius.

DM: Scorpius.

SM: But, father--

DM: Now, please, Scorpius.

SM: Mother is going to be so cross with you!

DM: Yes, I think she might.

AP: Come on.

HP: We'll send for -- whoever.  We'll send for them, Draco.  I seriously have no idea what you're doing, and I'm pretty sure you don't either, but we'll send for them.  Calvin, close it up.

CD: Seriously?  I mean.  Yes, sir.  Er.  Interview terminated at 10.21am.

*

Hufflepuff Dormitories,  
Hogwarts,  
Scotland  
  
Feb 6th

  
Dear Rose,

Professor Sprout has given me permission to go home for a little while to be with mother while this whole situation gets sorted out and everybody realises they've made a mistake and father can come home.

I tried to come up to Gryffindor to say goodbye properly, but Fred said you weren't feeling well, so I didn't.  I've left some Pepper-up Potion with Wallace if you need some, though.  They'll let Fred or Albus or Pia in, if you don't feel well enough to come down by yourself.

I hope you're feeling well soon.

Kindest regards,  
Scorpius H. Malfoy

*

Gryffindor Tower,  
Hogwarts,  
Scotland  
  
Feb 9th

  
Dear Viktor,

Scorpius keeps sending me letters, and I don't know what to say in return.  He's so sure his dad had nothing to do with this, but he's Scorpius.  Family means absolutely everything to him.  And Hugo is being so weird lately.  Some times it's like he doesn't care at all, and other times, I don't know, it's like he's drunk a thousand pots of coffee and eaten every chocolate frog Honeydukes ever produced.

Pia, she's another Ravenclaw, she says she's caught Hugo in the common room really late at night, or really early.  I don't think he's sleeping properly or he's having nightmares or something.  I keep seeing him scribble in that stupid Dream Journal he's supposed to do for his Divinations professor, but I asked a couple of people and they said they were only supposed to do a couple of lines.

We have a Hogsmeade weekend coming up.  Would you mind coming up to meet me, please?  My friends are cool, but I can't really talk to them about any of this, and I don't want to bother mum any more than I have to.  Please come.

Love,  
Rose

*

**Extract, Viktor Krum's Journals, February 12th, 2022**

It was strange to be back in Hogsmeade.  It had been twenty, perhaps twenty five years since I had last been here for any real length of time.  Karkaroff had still been with me then.  It had not changed much over the years, though the staff in the pub were all different and I received more looks for my cane than for my face.  Fame is such a fleeting thing.

Rose was waiting for me, and happy to chat about inconsequential things while they brought us our drinks and food.  I remember now that I meant to ask the recipe of their burgers.  No matter; I am not enough of a cook to have reproduced it anyway, I think.  Eventually, though, the conversation turned to Hermione and Hugo.

"He's always had really vivid dreams, as long as I can remember," Rose said. "I hardly ever remember mine."

"But it's worse lately," I prompted.

Rose nodded.  She nibbled at her lettuce for a moment and then said, reluctantly, "I did something that I'm not sure I should have done or not."

I have learned in these situations that it is best to let people speak for themselves.  I arched an eyebrow at her; something, I confess, that I have practised in front of the mirror ever since I found Gabrielle could do it elegantly and effortlessly.

By way of reply, Rose opened a small bag she had hanging around her neck and somehow pulled from it a leather-clad notebook far too large to have been inside it.  She laid it on the table.  I looked at it.  Then I looked at her.  This time, she did not need the eyebrow prompting.

"It's a copy of Hugo's dream journal," Rose said.  "When he writes in his, this one will update."

"That's quite impressive," I said.

"It's a modified Protean Charm.  It's mum's idea, really -- I mean, I got the idea from the coins she and dad used to talk about, for that Dumbledore's Army thing."

"Have you read it?" I asked.

She nodded guiltily and pushed it towards me.  I picked it up slowly, considering it.  It is a very great thing, I think, to look at a man's dreams laid bare.  Still, I told myself, it was a class project.  It was always intended to be read by someone other than Hugo, surely.

(A wizard's capacity to delude themselves to justify their own curiosity has always amazed me, I freely admit.)

I opened it at random and read, in Hugo's frenzied scrawl,

_there was a noise, like a bird chirping, over and over & that smell again & there was a blonde woman, I think & she kept pressing her finger to her lip & I tried to tell her it wasn't me making the noise but then I looked at it was dad in the bed and he said "you're asleep, son" and I said, "I know, it's for a project" & he started to say something else but the noise got too loud and I couldn't get close enough & then I woke up_

before closing the book again.

Rose was looking at me expectantly.  All I could think of was "Don't forget to pet the cat".

"May I keep this?" I asked her.  She nodded.  "May I show it to your mother?"  Something I should have been asking Hugo, not Rose.  Still, Rose nodded.

"Thank you," I said.

She asked, "Do you think it means something?"

I nodded.  "I do."

I didn't know what, exactly, but I thought I might have an inkling or two.  It would be a problem, of course.  Hermione has never put much stock in this sort of thing.  And I can't help wondering if, perhaps, Hugo didn't get his magic in much, much earlier than we had thought.

*

Scraps of parchment found in the possesion of patient designated JANE DOE #28415, partially burnt and charred; thin layered revelation charms used repeatedly, copying each marking to separate sheet and then reintegrating using Delphic analysis to eliminate gross errors; results as follows:

Item A (possibly top left of page):  
STUDY OF POSSIBILITY OF {obscured} {tr?}ANSFER OF MAG{ic?} {obscured}  
RELATING TO MUGGLE AND SQUI{b/d?} {obscured}  
BETWEEN ONE PERSON AND ANOTH{er}

BY B. ZAB{obscured}

Item B (possibly center of a page):  
{obscured} FAILURE OF MUGGLEBORN REGISTRATION TO {obscured}   
{obscured} NO DOUBT UNRESEARCHED PROPAGANDA BUT {obscured}  
{obscured} POTENTIAL APPLICATION OF HEALING TRANSFER {obscured}

Item C (unknown):  
A. BLACK  
A. FIGG  
A. FILCH  
A. FLINT  
A. {obscured}

*

Internal Memo  
17/2

  
Dear Ms Weasley,

Please find attached a small bio of each of the possible candidates for A. Black.  To the best of our knowledge, there are no extant Blacks still bearing the surname; however, please note that the Black family have a history of removing and destroying records of members who did not meet their exacting standards and, sadly, the influence to make the Ministry do the same.

Please let me know if I can be of any further help.

Yours respectfully,

Clarence Towns  
Archival Officer,  
Births and Deaths

*

**Daily Prophet, Aug 19th, 2020**

It is the sad duty of the Prophet to today announce the death of Mr Argus Filch, aged 109, at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry where he had served as caretaker since 1973.  Mr Filch went missing four days ago.  His body was found at the edge of the Forbidden Forest.  A long time sufferer of rheumatism, it is believed Mr Filch died of related causes.  His familiar, Mrs Norris IV has yet to be found.

*

Godric's Hollow  
20/02

  
Hermione,

I'm not quite sure why you're interested, but the only person I can think of who matches is Marcus Flint's cousin.  I've only heard him mentioned twice, which says something, given how tight lipped professional Quidditch players usually aren't.  You have no idea how hard we have to work to keep the worst gaffes out of the papers.  You'd think professional sports players would be able to take care of themselves, but they turn into complete morons the second they're off their brooms.

Anyway, Anthony Flint was a Squib.  I don't think there was anything particularly remarkable about him.  Enough magic to get by, not enough to go to Hogwarts.  The first time he was mentioned to me, he happened to be helping out serving at some party Flint's parents threw when they were trying to get him on Pride, only they sent him off out of the way as soon as anyone even vaguely press-worthy turned up.

Apparently there was some big thing last year, during the summer I think, where he'd run off or something.  I haven't heard any more about it since.  It's not something people talk about, you know?  I think if my parents kept hiding me away whenever anyone came around, I'd probably run away to.  Go into the Muggle world and go native.  It's easy to hide among all those millions, especially if you're not doing any magic.  Wizards could be right next to you and never even know.

I can ask around a bit more, if you'd like.  Why don't you come and have lunch with me?  My treat?  It feels like ages since we've talked properly.  You can come and fill me in on why you're looking into this.  I promise not to spill to anyone else!

Love,  
Ginny

*

20/02

  
Harry,

Did Hermione come and see you?  We were just having lunch, talking about the attack on her, and Malfoy's ridiculous assertion that he was to blame.  We both agreed that he was covering for someone, but had no idea who.  Really, Astoria was the most likely, but there was no way it could have been her.  Hermione wasn't so sure, and I said something about them having to be in two places at once and she suddenly looked at me like -- well, I don't know what, leapt to her feet, mumbled some apology, and raced out of there like there were Dementors at her heels.  By the time I'd managed to settle the bill and go after her, she was nowhere in sight.  I'm really hoping she went to the Ministry and hasn't rushed off to confront the Malfoys about something.  I know I shouldn't ask, but could you check for me?

I'm going to try her house, in case she went there.  I'll floo-call you if I can.

Love,  
Ginny

*

Detail of a colour Muggle photograph: framed on the left by a laughing Daphne Greengrass, the reflections in a dark window of her family: her father with one hand raised, his other on the shoulder of a grinning younger girl; Daphne's mother has both hands on the shoulders of the twin of the younger girl, though this one is sombre, pulled in on herself.

*

Malfoy Manor,  
Wiltshire,  
  
February 20th, 2022

  
Dear Rose,

Have you spoken to your mother recently?  She was just here!  It was weird.

My mother and I were having lunch with father's new lawyer, Mr Sloe, about his case.  (Uncle Terry insisted we have him instead of Mr Finch-Fletchley, father's usual lawyer; I don't know why.)  Mr Sloe was in the middle of explaining how the new jurisprudence laws, which your mother helped write, applied to how people can be defended against their interests when they've falsely confessed to a crime, when your mother came charging in with our Free Elf and demanded to speak to mother.

Mr Sloe tried to stop her, of course, because that's what lawyers do, but then your mother told my mother that she had to speak to her about her sister, and it was vitally urgent.  Mother went quite white, but no one would tell me what they were talking about.  They both just went off together into the other wing of the house and locked the doors behind them so we couldn't follow.  I asked Mr Sloe if he knew anything, but he didn't, and when we sent a letter to Aunt Daphne, she said everything was fine.  I'm sure I would know if your mother had a sister, so I don't think she meant that either!

After your mother left, my mother dismissed Mr Sloe, even though we weren't done, and then she locked herself in her bedroom and when I knocked, she told me to go and play!  I'm practically sixteen if you add a few months!  I'm not ten, still!

Do you know what's going on?  Or know someone who knows?  I'm going to send a letter to Hugo as well, because he always seems to know what's going on.  Do you think it would be okay if I sent one to Albus's father too?  Please write soon.

Best regards,

Scorpius H. Malfoy

*  


Higgs Group, British Office,  
1 Canary Square,  
London,  
SW1  
  
February 20th, 2022

  
Dear Mr Potter,

I do not appreciate either myself or my wife being harassed by any member of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, be it Aurors or your solicitor friend.  I certainly do not appreciate accusations and demands being made to and of me in front of very important business clients by a frankly deranged looking Ms Weasley, and I expect a formal apology to follow from both her department and your own.

For the record, I do not have, nor have I ever had, a sexual relationship with Pansy Parkinson.  Moreover, any financial dealings between myself, or the Higgs Group, and Ms Parkinson were completed at a minimum of eighteen months ago and I can assure you that neither I, my wife, nor the Higgs Group have anything to do with any dealings Ms Parkinson has enjoyed since.  The information I passed on to Ms Weasley was a guess at best, and I disclaim any responsibility for its accuracy or otherwise.

I expect your assurance that this is the end of the matter, or I shall personally petition the Wizengamot to have Ms Weasley stripped of her rank and privileges and blacklisted from all future Ministry positions.

Yours,

Terrance Higgs,  
CEO, Higgs Group

*

**Pensieve records, H. Weasley, Feb 20th 2022**

"You gave yourself away."

Pansy turns slowly at Hermione's words.  "It's the hair, isn't it?  People always recognise me by the hair.  I've been thinking of having it cut short; a bob, perhaps."

Hermione levels her wand at Pansy.

"I see," Pansy says.  "You've finally snapped."

"You had to push it," Hermione says.  "In the Crescent.  You thought I knew then.  When you worked out I didn't, you should have just let it go, and I would have been none the wiser.  But you had to try your stupid little games, didn't you?  You couldn't resist getting a dig in."

"You could never resist lecturing people," Pansy says, sitting calmly on the stool.  "It seems we are both victims of our nature.  Dearest Terry told you where to find me, I'm sure.  Never trust a man, darling; they'll all disappoint you in the end."

"Did you kill him?"

"Did I kill who?" Pansy asks.

"Ron."  Hermione's voice shakes, but her hand is steady.  "Did you kill Ron Weasley?"

Pansy actually laughs.  "You really have snapped!  How delightful!"

"You think you're so clever," Hermione says.  "You think you've covered all your tracks.  But I know everything."

"Then why are you asking me questions?"  Pansy smirks.  "You're so clever; why don't you remind me what it is I've done."

"You're a bigot."

"Takes one to know one.  What is it they say -- 'some of my best friends are purebloods'!"

"You did everything you could to sabotage every reform.  All that business with the House Elves, right up to the attack on our wedding.  The endless campaigns against court reform.  The innumerable letters to the Prophet on the subject of Squibs."  Hermione, watching Pansy, nods.  "That bothered you the most, didn't it?"

Pansy sneers.  "You think you're doing them a favour?  Forcing them out into the open, where they can see and be seen?  Forcing them to daily confront the poor fact of their existence, that they will never have what we have?  And you call  _me_  cruel."

"There's a six month gap after the Squib Protection Act came in, and then people start going missing again."

"Accidents happen, especially to people without magic to defend themselves with," Pansy says, shifting a little in her seat, straightening her dress.  "That's hardly my fault."

"Did you kill them all?  Filch, Arabella Figg, Anthony Flint?  It's the old Death Eater line, isn't it?  Muggles stealing magic.  Blaise Zabini's work on the subject is highly restricted, but you, you were there with him, that whole last year.  You knew the people who could go missing and never be noticed, which was good, because you could never get it to work properly, could you?  No magical transfer.  They just died."  

"What are you blathering on about?" Pansy asks.  "Really, Granger.  Brevity is the art of wit, don't you know?"

"And when the Squib Protection Act came, suddenly you had a huge problem.  Squibs were noticeable.  People would miss them.  But there were still the old families, who would hide them away, who had already destroyed the records, the way the Blacks did.  The way the Greengrasses did."

Pansy flinches, catches herself.  It's Hermione's turn to smirk.

"You couldn't erase Asteria entirely.  So you blackmailed Astoria into getting you the space you needed to work in, and the subject to work with.  And when Ron stumbled onto it and you, you performed a Memory Charm on him."

"Did I?" Pansy smiled.  "I don't remember."

"He did, though.  Ron always had an eye for details.  He saw all the things you missed.  That's why he went to the warehouse.  We'd practised, you see, with my parents.  Ways to restore memories.  And Ron remembered.  He was good at remembering.  He could tell you every chess game he ever played."

"Bravo," Pansy said tonelessly.

"He walked into your stupid, pathetic, useless attempt to perform the impossible, and he died."  Sparks crackled from Hermione's wand, making Pansy jump a little.  "And I want to know why!"

"Do you know, I honestly can't tell you."  Pansy laughs, a bright, genuine sound.  "I wasn't there.  I was quite as surprised as you were to hear the news.  But I suppose, if your ridiculous story was true, it might well be possibly that Ron interrupted he experiment.  Perhaps he even removed Asteria from the transfer machinery.  Of course, that would be the absolutely worst thing you could do.  With no biological source, I would assume, such machinery would pull in all the surrounding magic out of the ground and air until... boom!"

Hermione flinches.

"No more Asteria," Pansy says.  "No more Ron.  No warehouse.  No evidence at all.  Even if I had been involved, which I deny, how would you prove any of it?  Well?"

"I have," Hermione starts, sounding unsure.  Her wand lowers a little, then a little more.

"You think you're so smart.  You think you're so righteous.  You come into our world and you demand we do things your way."  Pansy sneers.  "You take away our privileges and our rights and you say you do it in the name of the greater good, in the name of protecting your friends and families.  You refuse to let your culture bend or change.  You refuse to compromise.  I mean, really, Mudblood, what makes you so different from me?"

Hermione lowers her wand the rest of the way.  After a moment, she says, "You might be right.  I do rush in before I know things.  I do demand too much of people sometimes.  And I even agree that we don't do enough to make us all part of a shared history.  But you know what the real difference between you and me is, Pansy?  Not our backgrounds, or our cultures, or the means by which we seek to protect our own and the people around us."

"What then?" Pansy asks.

Hermione punches her in the face. "I'm not a  _bitch_."

Pansy, knocked back by the blow, falls to her knees.

"You-- You hit me!  You fucking savage!"  Pansy goes for her wand, but Hermione's is already there.  After a moment, Pansy starts to chuckle.  "Oh, that was  _good_.You'd have liked that, wouldn't you?  The excuse?  It would have made you feel justified.  Tell you what, go ahead.  One good curse.  Have you got it in you?"

"You have no idea," Hermione says, voice tight.

"Oh, I have every idea.  If our positions were reversed?  I would have killed you the second I stepped in the door.  No talking.  No fuss.  No mess.  Just boom."

"Pansy Parkinson, as a due representative of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, I am placing you under arrest for the--"

"Oh, shut up!  I know the spiel."  Pansy laughs again, pushing herself back to her feet.  "It's just as hollow as you are."  She wipes at her face.  "You have nothing.  You've never had anything.  You're a disgrace to the wand you carry and a disease that's killing the people you claim to love.  So go ahead."  She holds her wrists out.  "Take me in.  You've got nothing to hold me on.  I'll be out inside the hour.  But you'll never get out of your own private Azkaban, Granger.  Never."

*

Internal Memo  
22/2

  
Hermione,

I'm sorry, but Pansy was right.  The Malfoy's have already confused the issue, they'll never testify, we have no physical evidence, and there's no way of proving a conspiracy when half the clean-up was standard operating procedure.  I'm quite willing to pick her up and hold her if you think we can get a confession out of her, but I'm not sure even that would stand up in court.  Even with his 'nothing to do with us' spiel, I think Higgs would still find a way to throw money at it until it went away.

I really am sorry.

Love,  
Harry

*

Internal Memo  
23/2

  
Harry,

It's okay.  At least now I know.

I'd very much like to come and have dinner with you and Ginny, if you'd like to have me.

Love always,  
Hermione

*

35 1/2 Dover Street,  
Mayfair,  
London,  
W1S 4QN  
  
  
February 24th, 2022

  
Mrs Weasley,

We would like to offer out condolences, and our apologies. 

It has come to our attention that we are still holding an order for your late husband.  It was accidentally misfiled when removed from our collections area and has only now be found and restored.

The order has been paid in full, and my be collected at your convenience.

Yours sincerely,  
Aldover Wright

for: WRIGHT, GRIPHOOK, & TEAGUE  
Registered Jewellers and Master Craftsmen of the First Order

*

**Extract, Viktor Krum's Journals, Feb 26th 2022**

"Here it is," Hemione said, carrying the box into the kitchen.

It was a cheap, wooden crate, clearly stuffed with straw by the pieces that had managed to work their way out of the cracks.  Still, as we were always cautioned with brooms, the state of something should never be judged by the presentation it comes in.  The White Comets used to have the most marvelous velvet lined mahogany boxes, but you couldn't steer them for love nor galleons.

"Do you know what it is?" I asked as Hermione carefully transfigured the nails into beetles and sent them fluttering away.

She shook her head.  "I thought he'd bought a necklace.  If he has, it's either of Luna proportions or the most overly packed piece of jewellery in the history of--"

With the nails gone, the spring of the straw had pushed the cover up, and Hermione only just caught it before it could go tumbling.  Strands of straw danced up into the air, one landing in Hermione's hair.  She huffed in exasperation, banishing the strays, before carefully tucking the rest into the sides of the box, to reveal the contents within.

"It's a clock," I said.

It was, a large round thing, shaped not unlike a sunburst, and formed of something that might have been brass, though it gleamed oddly, as if catching light from somewhere else.  There were no numerals placed around the dial but, rather, a set of words.  LUNCH, said one, and another SCHOOL.  WORK, PLAY, RESEARCHING, SICK, HOME, LOST and MORTAL PERIL jumped out at me as Hermione lifted it out of the box, turning it around in her hands.

"It's like the Grandfather clock," she said.  "Oh, honestly, Ron!"

I took the clock from her before she could drop it and set it down on the table, keeping myself turned away in case she wished to cry, or wished not to and needed a moment.  There was a raised spindle in the middle of the dial, awaiting use.  I checked the straw again.

"There are hands in here," I said.

Hermione joined me in clearing through the debris, until we had the four hands out and clean.  Each was an intricate thing of black iron, bearing a name inscribed along the base and a faintly glowing lifestone set into the point.  I took the hand marked 'Hermione' and, with her permitting nod, set it on the clock and stepped back, expecting it to move.  Nothing happened.

"I expect all four have to be put on to activate the charm properly," Hermione said.  "I don't know how Ron did this.  It's a bit like polyjuice potion; it's not enough to just have the ingrediants, you also have to have something of the living person to make it work.  He always was more clever than he gave himself credit for."

"Shall I put the others on?" I asked.

I wondered what would happen to Ron's hand.  Hermione must have read the question from my face, for she said, "When a person dies, their clock hand breaks.  I remember Fred's was almost ash."

She took a shuddering breath.

"I can do this by myself," I suggested, knowing she wouldn't hear of it.  Hermione just smiled wanly.  I set Rose's hand in place, and then Hugo's.  I moved to add Ron's, but Hermione took it from my hand.

"I can do it," she said.

I stood back as Hermione pressed a kiss to the hand.  "Goodbye," she whispered, and clicked it into place.

The clock glowed brightly for a moment.  When it faded, the hands began to move, turning in slow circles.  After a moment, Hugo's settled on 'EATING', and Hermione gave a little chuckle.  Next, Rose's settled on 'SCHOOL'.  Hermione's twitched across 'SICK' and 'LOST' and finally came to rest on 'HOME'.  Ron's hand kept spinning, around and around, around and around.

I felt Hermione's hand work its way into mine, but neither us could look away.

"Here we go," she whispered.

And, as we watched, Ron's spinning hand settled on 'SICK'.

*

**Extract, Hugo Weasley's Dream Journal, Feb 26th 2022**

and there was a statue of a crying Veela, I think, because it had wings but I couldn't see its hands & there was a thick red cross on a white wall & lots of glass windows & doors that slid by themselves & a little shop full of flowers and magazines & stairs & a long hall & a door & a room & I said, "He's in there, mum" & she opened the door, and everything got very bright until I couldn't stay asleep any more, even though I tried really hard

*

**Pensieve records, A. Greengrass, Feb 26th 2022**

Asteria still looks like her sister, even through the scarring.  She does not look surprised when Hermione and Viktor turn up at the Hospital, just resigned.

"I knew you'd find me eventually.  Can we go outside?  I'd like to see the sky one last time before I die."

"No one is going to kill you," Viktor says.  "You're not in any trouble."

"I think you've mistaken me for someone else," Hermione says with impressive calm.  "My name is Hermione Weasley.  I think you know my husband."

There is a long silence, and then Asteria bursts into tears.  "I'm sorry!  I'm so sorry!  I couldn't go back, not into the Wizarding world, and he was hurt so bad and I didn't know what to do and--"

"It's okay," Hermione says, awkwardly putting her arms around Asteria and hugging her close for a moment.  "You did what you had to to survive.  Please.  I need to see him."

"Of, of course."  Still sobbing, Asteria leads the way.  Viktor stops her at the door way, and they let Hermione go into the room by herself, though they stay close enough that the penseive still picks up what follows.

A heavily bandaged Ron is lying in the bed, surrounded by slow beeping medical equipment.  There is a strong smell of bleach in the air.  Sunlight struggles in between the cracks in the blinds.  He lifts his head, blinking groggily for a moment, before letting it fall back.  Hermione crosses the room with agonising slowness, reaching out a trembling hand to lightly brush her fingers against the bandages.  Ron blinks at her again.

"Herm'ne," he manages.

She nods.  There is water on the side cabinet, and she pours him some, holding it carefully to his lips as he swallows.

"Hey," Ron says eventually.  "Are you real?"

She nods again.

"Oh. Cool."  Ron smiles.  "I'm on a lot of, um.  Muggle stuff.  A lot of.  Wow."  He slow blinks at her.  "Are you crying?  Oh, no, no, don't cry."

Hermione blurts out, "I hit Hugo."

There's a long pause.

"Did he deserve it?" Ron asks.

Hermione shakes her head.

"Did you apologise?"

Hermione nods.

"That's okay then," Ron decides.

Sobbing, Hermione throws her arms around him, burying her face against his neck and mumbling something we can not hear.  Ron pats her awkwardly.

"Ow," he says.

*

Malfoy Manor,  
Wiltshire  
  
March 1st, 2022

Dear Mrs Weasley,

Thank you very much for getting my father released.  I'm sorry for any trouble he caused you.  He's so much trouble to look after!

I'm really glad Mr Weasley is okay now and he shouldn't be worried too much, because people really like scars, I have heard.  Please thank Rose for returning my books to me and tell her that it is okay that she kept my bookmark as I have lots.  I shall see her at Hogwarts soon, but I am sure you will see her first.

Whatever happened, I'm sure it was very interesting, and perhaps someone could explain it to me sometime?

I have to go.  Mum says there is someone she wants me to meet.

Yours sincerely,  
Scorpius H. Malofy

*  


"At Large", isn't that what they say?  
22/2/22

Hermione,

It seems congratulations are in order.  And comisserations of course.  I'm sure you're all searching for me.  Try all you like.  You never did work out how the Floo system was compromised, did you?  This is what happens when you don't pay attention to history.

You can't stop ideas.  You can restrict all the books you want, burn Blaise's notes, shut down the whole Department of Mysteries, fine us back into poverty, take our wands and our children, but the idea will still be there.  The truth of things will still be there for those that look.  Magic is our gift, our treasure, our provenance and our nature.  It can not be denied.

It must not be wasted.

We make you better.  We share with you.  And you repay us by diluting our culture, by disregarding our history, by muddying our blood, infecting our children with your listless apathy. You diminish us just by existing.  How much worse when you do it with malice aforethought?  It doesn't matter, though.  Not in the long run.  Because you can't stop ideas.

We were here long before your kind.  We will still be here long after you have turned to dust.  We are the soil in which you grow, and you only poison yourself.  In the end, your children will become us in their turn, and we will go on.

Do remember to say a happy birthday to young Hugo for me.

I remain,  
Pansy Parkinson

*

**Extract, Hugo Weasley's Dream Journal, Mar 1st 2022**

~~there was curtains so I opened them & it was my parents bedroom & all the stars were out outside the window & I could see the clock & the time was 'HOME' & mum was there with dad & mum said, "Ron Weasley, if you are not naked in the next thirty seconds, I'm going to floo-call Viktor" & dad looked speculative & mum said "and not let you watch" & dad said "now that's just mean" & grinned and unbuttoned his shirt & then I luckily woke up~~

I didn't dream anything today.

*

Colour Wizarding photograph, 6" x 4"; River House, c. Mar 1st 2022; Ron, Hugo, and Rose Weasley are all squished together into a garden swinging chair, happily asleep; a lone balloon waves back and forth in frame, its string tied around one of the chair poles; in the window behind them, the reflection can just be made out of Hermione Weasley, camera in hand, a huge smile on her face.


End file.
